fs*. y\ BOOK 82 1.7.B996 ZG c. 1 GALT # LIFE OF LORD BYRON 3 T153 001bEMS5 2 THE NATIONAL LIBRARY. CONDUCTED BY CHE REV. G. R. GLEIG, M.A. M.R. S.L. &c. ASSISTED BY VARIOUS EMINENT WRITERS. N°- I, THE LIFE OF LORD BYRON, BY JOHN GALT, ESQ. LONDON : SENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET ; BELL & BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH; & CUMMING, DUBLIN. 1830. IL@miD) lll(0)lo Zoridcn .Ihilished by Henry Col6u77i&3io?uuTclsBerUty.I830. LIFE LORD BYRON J © H N G A 3L LOUD ON. C O I , B O R N AND B E N T LIE T V BURLIN G T O N S T R E E T. 1830. THE LIFE \i OF LORD BYRON. BY JOHN GALT, ESQ. THIRD EDITION. LONDON ; HENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 1830. C. Wliitinff, Beaufort House, Strand. PREFACE. bo r cr The letters and journals of Lord Byron, with the interwoven notes of Mr. Moore, should have superseded the utility of writing any other account of that extra- ordinary man. The compilation has, however, not proved satisfactory, and the consequence, almost of necessity, is, that many other biographical portraits y of the noble poet may yet be expected ; but will they materially alter the general effect of Mr. Moore's work? I think not ; and have accordingly confined myself, as \ much as practicable, consistent with the end in view, to an outline of his Lordship's intellectual features — a substratum only of the general mass of his character. If Mr. Moore has evinced too eager an anxiety to set * out the best qualities of his friend to the brightest advantage, it ought to be recollected that no less was expected of him. The spirit of the times ran strong v against Lord Byron, as a man; and it was natural ^ that Mr. Moore should attempt to stem the tide. I respect the generosity with which he has executed his task. I think that he has made no striking raisre- IV PREFACE. presentation; I even discern but little exaggeration, although he has amiably chosen to paint only the sunny side : the limning is correct ; but the likeness is too radiant and conciliatory. There is one point with respect to the subsequent pages, on which I think it unnecessary to offer any explanation — the separation of Lord and Lady By- ron. I have avoided, as much as I well could, every thing like the expression of an opinion on the subject. Mr. Moore has done all in his power to excuse his Lordship ; and Lady Byron has protested against the correctness of his statement, without however assigning any reason for her own conduct, calculated to satisfy the public, who have been too indecorously, I conceive, made parties to the question. But I should explain that in omitting to notice the ; rancour with which Lord Byron was pursued by Dr. Southey, I have always considered his Lordship as the first aggressor. The affair is therefore properly compre- hended in the general observations respecting the enemies whom the satire of English Bards and Scotch Reviewers provoked. I may add further, in explanation, that I did not conceive any particular examination was re- » quired of his Lordship's minor poems, nor of his part in the controversy concerning the poetical genius of Pope. Considering how much the conduct of Lord Byron has been in question, perhaps I ought to state that I never stood on such a footing with his Lordship as to PREFACE. V inspire me with any sentiment likely to bias my judg- ment. I am indebted to him for no other favours than those which a well-bred person of rank bestows in the interchange of civility on a man who is of none, and that I do not undervalue the courtesy with which he ever treated me, will probably be apparent. I am gratified with the recollection of having known a person so celebrated, and I believe myself incapable of intentional injustice. I can only regret the impression he made upon me, if it shall be thought I have spoken of him with prejudice. It will be seen by a note, relative to a circumstance which took place in Lord Byron's conduct towards the Countess Guiccioli, that Mr. Hobhouse has enabled me to give two versions of an affair not regarded by some of that lady's relations as having been marked by generosity ; but I could not expunge from the text what I had stated, having no reason to doubt the au- thenticity of my information. The reader, is enabled to form his own opinion on the subject. I cannot conclude without offering my best arknow ledgments to the learned and ingenious Mr. Nicolas, for the curious genealogical fact of a baton sinister being in the escutcheon of the Byrons of Newstead. Lord Byron, in his pride of birth, does not appear to have been aware of this stain. N. B. Since this work was completed, a small pamphlet, judiciously suppressed, has been placed in Vi PREFACE. my hands, dated from the Chateau de Blonai, 20th Au- gust, 1825, in which Mr. Medwin vindicates the cor- rectness of those statements in his conversations with Lord Byron, which Mr. Hobhouse had impugned in The Westminster Review. Had I seen it before ex- pressing my opinion of Mr. Medwin's publication, I am not sure it would have in any degree affected that opinion, which was formed without reference to the errors imputed by Mr. Hobhouse. London, 12th August, 1830. PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION. A few terms and three or four passages have been improved in this edition. " Kithe" has been reluctantly changed, merely because it has been objected to, al- though genuine Saxon, and found in Johnson and Bailey; and although the English language affords no other word of exactly the same meaning. It has been so common to use a metaphor in its place, such as "unfold," or " disclose," &c, that it may be now obsolete ; but. ought not to have been unknown to those who attempt criticism. This work is, neither in narrative nor opinion, an abridgment of Mr. Moore's. When a book has been published, its contents become public property ; but so much of that gentleman's compilation consists of letters and journals, that it was not applicable. His docu- ments have been occasionally referred to, and his opinions also controverted ; but it was of less use to the author than almost any other publication yet given to the world concerning Lord Byron, a fact which the reader can ascertain for himself. It would be impertinent to notice here the anticipated vituperations which have been so fully realized, and which every man who ventures to write of his Lordship must prepare himself to endure ; but the author intends to depart from his quiet habits towards the Critics — the nettles of Parnassus — and perhaps, jn the course of a week or two, they may feel his hooves or hoofs and his teeth. Oct. 1, 1830. CONTENTS. Page Introduction 1 CHAPTER I. Ancient descent— Pedigree— Birth— Troubles of his mother— Early education — Accession to the title • 5 CHAPTER II. Moral effects of local scenery ; a peculiarity in taste— Early love- Impressions and traditions . 14 CHAPTER III. Arrival at Newstead— Find it in ruins— The old Lord and his beetles — The Earl of Carlisle becomes the guardian of Byron — The poet's acute sense of his own deformed foot—His mother consults a fortuneteller , 23 CHAPTER IV. Placed at Harrow— Progress there— Love for Miss Chaworth— His reading— Oratorical powers 30 CHAPTER V. Character at Harrow— Poetical predilections at Cambridge— His L Hours of Idleness 37 CHAPTER VI. Criticism of the Edinburgh Review , ..... 42 Vlll CONTENTS. Page CHAPTER VII. Effect of the criticism in the Edinburgh Review— English Bards and Scotch Reviewers — His satiety — Intention to travel — Publishes his Satire — Takes his seat in the House of Lords — Departs for Lisbon ; thence to Gibraltar , 51 CHAPTER VIII. First acquaintance with Byron — Embark together — The voyage .... 57 CHAPTER IX. Dinner at the ambassador's at Cagliari— Opera— Disaster of Byron at Malta— Mrs. Spencer Smith 63 CHAPTER X. Sails from Malta to Prevesa — Lands at Patras— Sails again — Passes Ithaca — Arrival at Prevesa — Salona — Joannina — Zitza , 68 CHAPTER XI. Halt at Zitza— The river Acheron— Greek wine — A Greek chariot — Arrival at Tepellene— The vizier's palace 75 CHAPTER XII. Audience appointed with Ali Pashaw — Description of the vizier's person— My audience of the Vizier of the Morea 80 CHAPTER XIII. The effect of Ali Pashaw's character on Lord Byron— Sketch of the career of Ali, and the perseverance with which he pursued the objects of his ambition 86 CHAPTER XIV. Leave Joannina for Prevesa — Laud at Fanari — Albania — Byron's character of the inhabitants 91 CHAPTER XV. Leave Utraikee — Dangerous pass in the woods— Catoona — Quarrel between the guard and primate of the village — Makala— Gouri— Missolonghi— Parnassus 97 CHAPTER XVI. Vostizza— Battle of Lepanto— Parnassus— Livadia— Cave of Tro- phonius— The fountains of Oblivion and Memory— Chsronea— Thebes— Athens 102 CONTENTS. IX Page CHAPTER XVII. Byron's character of the modern Athenians— Visit to Eleusis— Visit to the Caverns at Vary and Keratea— Lost in the labyrinths of the latter 107 CHAPTER XVIII. Proceed from Karatea to Cape Colonna— Associations connected ■with the spot— Second hearing of the Albanians— Journey to Marathon— Effect of his adventures on the mind of the Poet- Return to Athens— I join the travellers there— Maid of Athens ... 113 CHAPTER XIX. Occupation at Athens— Mount Pentilicus— We descend into the ca- verns—Return to Athens— A Greek contract of marriage — Various ► Athenian and Albanian superstitions— Effect of their impression on the geniu3 of the poet 118 CHAPTER XX. Local pleasures— Byron's Grecian poems— His departure from Athens— Description of evening in The Corsair— The opening of . The Giaour— State of patriotic feeling then in Greece— Smyrna — Change in Lord Byron's manners 124 CHAPTER XXI. Smyrna— The sport of the Djerid— Journey to Ephesus— The dead city— The desolate country— The ruins and obliteration of the temple — The slight impression of all on Byron ,. 131 CHAPTER XXII.' Embarks for Constantinople— Touches at Tenedos— Visits Alexandria Troas— The Trojan plain— Swims the Hellespont— Arrival at Con- stantinople 136 . CHAPTER XXIII. r Constantinople— Description— The dogs and the dead— Landed at Tophana— The masterless dogs— The slave-market— The seraglio— The defects in the description 144 CHAPTER XXIV. Dispute with the ambassador— Reflections on Byron's pride of rank t — Abandons his oriental travels— Re-embarks in the Salsette— The dagger-scene— Zea— Returns to Athens— Tour in the Morea— Dan- • gerous illness— Return to Athens— The adventure on which The Giaour is founded 151 X CONTENTS. Page CHAPTER XXV. Arrival in London— Mr. Dallas's patronage— Arranges for the publi- cation of Childe Harold— The death of Mrs. Byron : his sorrow — His affair with Mr. Moore— Their meeting at Mr. Rogers's house, and friendship 157 CHAPTER XXVI. The libel in The Scourge— The general impression of his character — Improvement in his manners as his merit was acknowledged by the public— His address in management— His first speech in parlia- ment—The publication of Childe Harold— Its reception and effect 166 CHAPTER XXVII. Sketches of character— His friendly dispositions— Introduce Prince K- to him— Our last interview— His continued kindness towards me— Instance of it to one of my friends 172 CHAPTER XXVIII. A miff? with Lord Byron— Remarkable coincidences— Plagiarisms of his Lordship 178 CHAPTER XXIX. Lord Byron in 1813— The Lady's Tragedy— Miss Milbanke— Growing uneasiness of Lord Byron's mind — T hg^friar's ghost — The marriage —A member of the Drury-lane committee— iitriharrassed affairs— The separation 184 CHAPTER XXX. Reflections on his domestic verses— Consideration of hi3 works— The Corsair — Probabilities of the character and incidents of the story — On the difference between poetical invention and moral experience, illustrated by the difference between the genius of Shakspeare and that of Byron 194 CHAPTER XXXI. Byron determines to reside abroad— Visits the plain of Waterloo- State of his feelings , 2C2 CHAPTER XXXII. Byron's residence in Switzerland— Excursion to the Glaciers— Man- fred founded on a magical sacrifice, not on guilt— Similarity between sentiments given to Manfred, and those expressed by Lord Byron in his own person 209 CONTENTS. XI CHAPTER XXXIII. State of Byron in. Switzerland— He goes to Venice— The fourth, canto of Childe Harold— Rumination on his own condition— Beppo— Lament of Tasso— Curious example of Byron's metaphysical love 217 CHAPTER XXXIV. Removes to Ravenna— The Countess Guiccioli 223 CHAPTER XXXV. Residence in Ravenna— The Carbonari— Byron's part in their plot— • The murder of the military commandant — The poetical use of the incident— Marino Faliero— Reflections— The Prophecy of Dante . . 227 CHAPTER XXXVI. The tragedy of Sardanapalus considered with reference to Lord Byron's own circumstances— Cain 233 CHAPTER XXXVII. Removal to Pisa— The Lanfranchi Palace— Affair with the guard at Pisa— Removal to Monte Nero— Junction with Mr. Hunt— Mr. Shelley's letter 241 CHAPTER XXXVIII. Mr. Hunt arrives in Italy — Meeting with Lord Byron — Tumults in the house— Arrangements for Mr. Hunt's family — Extent of his obliga- tions to Lord Byron— Their copartnery— Meanness of the whole business 247 CHAPTER XXXIX. Mr. Shelley— Sketch of his life— His death— The burning of his body, and the return of the mourners 253 CHAPTER XL. The Two Foscari— Werner— The Deformed Transformed— Don Juan — Tbe Liberal— Removes from Pisa to Genoa 25S CHAPTER XLI. Genoa— Change in the manners of Lord Byron— Residence at the Casa Saluzzi— The Liberal— Remarks on the Poet's works in general, and on Hunt's strictures on his character 266 xu Contents. Page CHAPTER XLII. Lord Byron resolves to join the Greeks — Arrives at Cephalonia— Greek factions— Sends emissaries to the Grecian Chiefs— Writes to London about the loan— To Mavrocordato on the dissensions — Embarks at last for Missolonghi 271 CHAPTER XL1II. Lord Byron's conversations on religion with Dr. Kennedy .......... 278 CHAPTER XLIV. Voyage to Cephalonia— Letter— Count Gamba's address— Grateful feelings of the Turks— Endeavours of Lord Byron to mitigate the horrors of the war 292 CHAPTER XLV. Proceedings at Missolonghi— Byron's Suliote brigade— Their insubor- dination — Difference with Colonel Stanhope— Imbecility of the plans for the independence of Greece 298 CHAPTER XLVI. Lord Byron appointed to the command of three thousand men to besiege Lepanto— The siege abandoned for a blockade— Advanced guard ordered to proceed — Lord Byron's first illness — A riot— He is urged to leave Greece— The expedition against Lepanto aban- doned — Byron dejected — A wild diplomatic scheme 304 CHAPTER XLVII. The last illness and death of Lord Byron— His last poem 310 CHAPTER XLVIII. The funeral preparations and final obsequies 318 CHAPTER XLIX. Character of Lord Byron.... 322 j Appendix •• * 329 THE LIFE OF LORD BYRON. INTRODUCTION. My present task is one of considerable difficulty \ but I have long had a notion that some time or another it would fall to my lot to perform it. I approach it, therefore, without apprehension, entirely in conse- quence of having determined, to my own satisfaction, the manner in which the biography of one so richly endowed as Lord Byron, should be treated, but still with no small degree of diffidence ; for there is a wide difference between determining a rule for oneself, and producing, according to that rule, a work which shall please the public. His Lordship was a public cha- racter, and contemporaneous historians may only add what they have observed and heard of him, to the opinions previously printed ; and, even in doing so, they must be under a restraint arising from the respective views which they intend to take of the subject. It has happened, both with regard to the man and the poet, that from the first time his name came before the public, there has been a vehement and B 2 INTRODUCTION. continual controversy concerning him ; and the chief difficulties of the task arise out of the heat with which the adverse parties have maintained their respective opinions, and the dislike every man has to encounter the unjust praise or censure which, whoever touches this subject, must 'prepare himself to endure. More- over, there has been something like a property assumed in the reputation of Lord Byron by some of those who were in affection, but not in judgment, his friends. They mingle his poetical merits with his personal conduct, and claim a degree of respect for him, which many who are willing to concede to the poet, refuse to the man. From this injurious partiality, an avidity to catch at unintentional errors has proceeded, and the attempt to be just, is to be unfair, and to offend. The circumstances in which he was placed, until his accession to the title and estates of his ancestors, were not such as to prepare a boy that would be father to a prudent or judicious man. Nor, according to the history of his family, was his blood without a taint of sullenness, which disqualified him from conciliating the good opinion of those whom his innate superiority must have often prompted him to desire for friends. He was branded, moreover, with a personal deformity, and the grudge against Nature for inflicting this de- fect, not only deeply disturbed his happiness, but so generally affected his feelings as to imbitter them with a vindictive sentiment, so strong as, at times, to ex- hibit the disagreeable energy of misanthropy. This was not all. He enjoyed high rank, and was conscious of possessing great talents, but his fortune was inade- quate to his desires, and his talents were not of an order to redeem the deficiencies of fortune. It like- wise so happened, that while indulged by his mother, to an excess that impaired the manliness of his cha- racter, her conduct was not such as to merit the degree of affection which her wayward fondness in- spired. INTRODUCTION. 3 It is impossible to reflect on the boyhood of Byron without sorrow. There is not one point in it all which could, otherwise than with pain, have affected a young mind of sensibility. His works bear testimony, that while his memory retained the impressions of early youth, fresh and unfaded, there was a gloom and shadow upon them, which proved how little they had been really joyous. The riper years of one so truly the nursling of pride, poverty, and pain, could only be inconsistent, wild and impassioned, even had his natural tempera- ment been moderate and well-disciplined. But when it is considered that, in addition to all the awful influences of these fatalities, for they can receive no lighter name, he possessed an imagination of un- bounded capacity — was inflamed with those inde- scribable feelings which constitute, in the opinion of many, the very elements of genius — fearfully quick in the discernment of the darker qualities of character — and surrounded by temptation — his career ceases to surprise. It would have been more wonderful had he proved an amiable and well-conducted man, than the questionable and extraordinary being who has alike provoked the malice and interested the admiration of the world. Posterity, while acknowledging the eminence of his endowments, and lamenting the habits which his un- happy circumstances induced, will regard it as a curious phenomenon in the fortunes of the individual, that the progress of his fame as a poet should have been so similar to his history as a man. His first attempts, though displaying both origina- lity and power, were received with a contemptuous disdain, as cold and repulsive as the penury and neglect which blighted the budding of his youth. The unjust ridicule in the review of his first poems, excited in his spirit a discontent as inveterate as the feelings which sprung from his deformity : it affected, b2 4 INTRODUCTION. more or less, all his conceptions to such a degree that he may be said to have hated the age which had joined in the derision, as he cherished an antipathy against those persons who looked curiously at his foot. Childe Harold, the most triumphant of his works, was produced when the world was kindliest disposed to set a just value on his talents ; and his latter pro- ductions, in which the faults of his taste appear the broadest, were written when his errors as a man were harshest in the public voice. These allusions to the incidents of a life full of contrarieties, and to a character so strange as to be almost mysterious, sufficiently show the difficulties of the task I have undertaken. But the course I intend to pursue will relieve me from the necessity of entering, in any particular manner, upon those debateable points of his personal conduct which have been so much discussed. I shall consider him, if I can, as his character will be estimated when contemporary sur- mises are forgotten, and when the monument he has raised to himself is contemplated for its beauty and magnificence, without suggesting recollections of the eccentricities of the builder. THE LIFE OF LORD BYRON. CHAPTER I, Ancient descent.— Pedigree.— Birth.— Troubles of his mother.— Early education. — Accession to the title. The English branch of the family of Byron came in with William the Conqueror ; and from that era they have continued to be reckoned among the eminent families of the kingdom, under the names of Buron and Biron. It was not until the reign of Henry II. that they began to call themselves Byron, or De Byron. Although for upwards of seven hundred years distin- guished for the extent of their possessions, it does not appear that, before the time of Charles I., they ranked very highly among the heroic families of the kingdom. Erneis and Ralph were the companions of the Con- queror ; but antiquaries and genealogists have not determined in Avhat relation they stood to each other. Erneis, who appears to have been the most consi- derable personage of the two, held numerous manors in the counties of York and Lincoln. In the Domes- day-book, Ralph, the direct ancestor of the poet, ranks high among the tenants of the crown, in Notts and Derbyshire ; in the latter county he resided at Horestan Castle, from which he took his title. One of the Lords of Horestan was an hostage for the pay- ment of the ransom of Richard Coeur de Lion ; and in the time of Edward I., the possessions of his descend- ants were augmented (perhaps for that service) by the addition of the lands of Rochdale, in Lancashire. ° THE LIFE OF In the wars of the three Edwards, the De Byrons appeared with some distinction ; and they were also noted in the time of Henry V. Sir John Byron joined Henry VII. on his landing at Milford, and fought gallantly at the battle of Bosworth, against Richard III. ; for which he was afterwards appointed Constable of Nottingham Castle, and Warden of Sherwood Forest. At his death, in 1488, he was succeeded by Sir Nicholas, his brother, who, at the marriage of Arthur, Prince of Wales, in 1501, was made one of the Knights of the Bath. Sir Nicholas died in 1540, leaving an only son, Sir John Byron, whom Henry VIII. made Steward of Man- chester and Rochdale, and Lieutenant of the Forest of Sherwood. It was to him that, on the dissolution of the monasteries, the church and priory of Newstead, in the county of Nottingham, together with the manor and rectory of Papelwick, were granted. The abbey from that period became the family seat, and continued so till it was sold by the poet. Sir John Byron left Newstead, and his other pos- sessions, to John Byron, whom Collins and other writers have called his fourth, but who was in fact his illegitimate, son. He was knighted by Queen Elizabeth in 1579, and his eldest son, Sir Nicholas, served with distinction in the wars of the Netherlands. When the great rebellion broke out against Charles I., he was one of the earliest who armed in his defence. After the battle of Edgehill, where he courageously distinguished himself, he was made Governor of Chester, and gallantly defended that city against the Parliamentary army. Sir John Byron, the bro- ther and heir of Sir Nicholas, was, at the coronation of James L, made a Knight of the Bath. By his marriage with Anne, the eldest daughter of Sir Richard Molyneux, he had eleven sons and a daughter. The eldest served under his uncle in the Netherlands ; and, in the year 1641, was appointed by King Charles I., LORD BYRON". 7 Governor of the Tower of London. In this situation he became obnoxious to the refractory spirits in the Parliament ; and was in consequence ordered by the Commons to answer at the bar of their House certain charges which the sectaries alleged against him . But he refused to leave his post without the king's command ; and, upon this, the Commons applied to the Lords to join them in a petition to the king, to remove him. The Peers rejected the proposition. On the 24th of October, 1643, Sir John Byron was created Lord Byron of Rochdale, in the county of Lancaster, with remainder of the title to his brothers, and their male issue, respectively. He was also made Field-marshal-general of all his Majesty's Forces in Worcestershire, Cheshire, Shropshire, and North Wales : nor were these trusts and honours unwon, for the Byrons, during the civil war, were eminently dis- tinguished. At the battle of Newbury, seven of the brothers were in the field, and all actively engaged. Sir Richard, the second brother of the first lord, was knighted by Charles I. for his conduct at the battle of Edgehill, and appointed Governor of Appleby Castle, in Westmorland, and afterwards of Newark, which he defended with great honour. Sir Richard, on the death of his brother, in 1652, succeeded to the peerage, and died in 1679. His eldest son, William, the third lord, married Elizabeth, the daughter of Viscount Chaworth, of Ireland, by whom he had five sons, four of whom died young. William, the fourth lord, his son, was Gentleman of the Bedchamber to Prince George of Denmark, and married, for his first wife, a daughter of the Earl of Bridgewater, who died eleven weeks after their nuptials. His second wife was the daughter of the Earl of Portland, by whom he had three sons, who all died before their father. His third wife was Frances, daughter of Lord Berkley, of Stratton, from whom the Poet is descended. Her eldest son, William, born in 8 THE LIFE OF 1722, succeeded to the family honours on the death of his father, in 1736. He entered the naval ser- vice, and became a lieutenant under Admiral Balchen. In the year 1763 he was made Master of the Stag- hounds ; and, in 1765, he was sent to the Tower, and tried before the House of Peers, for killing his relation and neighbour, Mr. Chaworth, in a duel fought at the Star and Garter Tavern, in Pall-mall. This Lord William was naturally boisterous and vin- dictive. It appeared in evidence that he insisted on fighting with Mr. Chaworth in the room where the quar- rel commenced. They accordingly fought without se- conds by the dim light of a single candle ; and, although Mr. Chaworth was the most skilful swordsman of the two, he received a mortal wound ; but he lived long enough to disclose some particulars of the rencounter, which induced the coroner's jury to return a verdict of wilful murder, and Lord Byron was tried for the crime. The trial took place in Westminster Hall, and the public curiosity was so great, that the Peers' tickets of admission were publicly sold for six guineas each. It lasted two days, and at the conclusion, he was unanimously pronounced guilty of manslaughter. On being brought up for judgment he pleaded his privi- lege, and was discharged. In addition to his revengeful disposition, he was distinguished for his profligacy. His attempt at the abduction of the celebrated Miss Bellamy, the actress, cannot be extenuated ; and the coolness with which he offered her a settlement to become his mistress, immediately after his marriage to another, is a singular instance of heartlessness. His brother, the grandfather of the Poet, was the celebrated "Hardy Bjron;" or, as the sailors called him, " 3^ ul weather. Jack," whose adventures and services are too well known to require any notice here, .He married the daughter of John Trevannion LORD BYRON. 9 Esq., of Carhais, in the county of Cornwall, by whom he had two sons and three daughters. John, the eldest, and the father of the Poet, was born in 1751, educated at Westminster-school, and afterwards placed in the Guards, where his conduct became so dissipated that his father, the admiral, though a good-natured man, discarded him long before his death. In 1778, he acquired extraordinary eclat by the seduction of the Marchioness of Carmarthen, under circumstances which have few parallels in the licentiousness of fa- shionable -life. The meanness with which he obliged his wretched victim to supply him with money, would have disgraced the basest adulteries of the cellar or garret. A divorce ensued, the guilty parties married ; but within two years after, such was the conduct of Captain Byron, that the ill-fated lady died literally of a broken heart, after having given birth to two daughters. Captain Byron then married Miss Catherine Cor- don, of Gight, a lady of honourable descent, and of a respectable fortune for a Scottish heiress, the only motive he had for forming the connexion. She was the mother of the Poet. Although the Byrons have for so many ages been among the eminent families of the realm, they have no claim to the distinction which the Poet has set up for them as warriors in Palestine, even though he says— Near Ascalon's tow'rs John of Horestan slumbers j for unless this refers to the Lord of Horestan, who was one of the hostages for the ransom of Richard I., it will not be easy to determine to whom he alludes ; and it is possible that the Poet has no other authority for this legend, than the tradition which he found connected with two groups of heads on the old pa- nels of Newstead. Yet the account of them is vague and conjectural, for it was not until ages after the 10 THE LIFE OF crusades, that the abbey came into the possession of the family : and it is not probable that the figures referred to any transactions in Palestine, in which the Byrons were engaged, if they were put up by the Byrons at all. They were,, probably, placed in their present situation while the building was in possession of the churchmen. One of the groups, consisting of a female and two Saracens, with eyes earnestly fixed upon her, may have been the old favourite ecclesiastical story of Susannah and the elders ; the other which repre- sents a Saracen with an European female between him and a Christian soldier, is, perhaps, an eccle- siastical allegory, descriptive of the Saracen and the Christian warrior contending for the liberation of the church. These sort of allegorical stories were common among monastic ornaments, and the famous legend of St. George and the Dragon is one of them.* Into the domestic circumstances of Captain and Mrs. Byron, it would be impertinent to institute any particular investigation. They were exactly such as might be expected from the sins and follies of a libertine. ' The fortune of Mrs. Byron, consisting of various * Gibbon says that St. George was no other tban the Bishop of Cappadocia, a personage of very unecclesiastical habits, and expresses some degree of surprise that sucli a person should ever have been sanctified in the calendar. But the whole story of this deliverer of the Princess of Egypt is an allegory of the sufferings of the church, which is typified as the daughter of Egypt, driven into the wilderness, and exposed to destruction by the dragon, the ancient emblem over all the east, of imperial power. The Bishop of Cappadocia manfully withstood the attempts of the emperor, and ultimately succeeded in pro- curing an imperial recognition of the church in Egypt. We have adverted to this merely to show the devices in which the legends of the church were sometimes imbodied ; and the illuminated missals — even the mass-books, in the early stages Of printing, abundantly prove and illustrate the opinions ex- pressed. LORD BYRON. 11 property, and amounting to about 23,500Z., was all wasted in the space of two years ; at the end of which the unfortunate lady found herself in possession of only 1501. per annum. Their means being thus exhausted, she accompa- nied her husband, in the summer of 1786, to France, from which she returned to England at the close of the year 1787, and on the 22d of January, 1788, gave birth, in Holies-street, London, to her first and only child, the Poet. The name of Gordon was added to that of his family in compliance with a condition imposed by will on whoever should become the hus- band of the heiress of Gight. The late Duke of Gordon and Colonel Duff, of Fetteresso, were god- fathers to the child. In the year 1790 Mrs. Byron took up her resi- dence in Aberdeen, where she was soon after joined by Captain Byron, with whom she lived in lodgings in Queen-street ,• but their reunion was comfortless, and a separation took place. Still their rupture was not final, for they occasionally visited each other. The Captain also paid some attention to the boy, and had him, on one occasion, to stay with him for a night, when he proved so troublesome that he was sent home next day. Byron himself has said, that he passed his boyhood at Marlodge, near Aberdeen ; but the statement is not correct ; he visited, with his mother, occasionally among their friends, and among other places passed some time at Fetteresso, the seat of his godfather, Colonel Duff. In 1796, after an attack of the scarlet fever, he passed some time at Ballater, a summer resort for health and gaiety, about forty miles up the Dee from Aberdeen. Although the circumstances of Mrs. Byron were at this period extremely straitened, she received a visit from her husband, the object of which was to extort more money ; and he was so far successful, that she contrived to borrow a sum, which 12 THE LIFE OF enabled him to proceed to Valenciennes, where, in the following year he died, greatly to her relief, and the gratification of all who were connected with him. By her advances to Captain Byron, and the expense she incurred in furnishing the flat of the house she occupied after his death, Mrs. Byron fell into debt to the amount of 300Z. the interest on which reduced her income to 1351. ; but much to her credit she contrived to live without increasing her embarrassments, until the death of her grandmother, when she received 1122/., which enabled her to discharge her pecuniary obligations. Notwithstanding the manner in which this unfor- tunate lady was treated by her husband, she always entertained for him a strong affection ; and when the intelligence of his death arrived, her grief was loud and vehement. She was indeed a woman of quick feelings and strong passions ; and probably it was by the acuteness of her sensibility that she retained so long the affection of her son, towards whom it cannot be doubted that her love was unaffected. In the midst of the neglect and penury to which she was herself subjected, she bestowed opon him all the care, the love and watchfulness of the tenderest mother. In his fifth year, on the 19th of November, 1792, she sent him to a day-school, where she paid about five shillings a quarter, the common rate of the respectable day-schools at that time in Scotland. Byron has described the master as a dapper, spruce person, with whom he made no progress. How long he remained with him is not mentioned, but by the day-book of the school it was at least twelve months ; for on the 19th of November of the following year there is an entry of a guinea having been paid for him. From this school he was removed and placed with one of-the ministers of the city churches, and to whom he formed some attachment, as he speaks of LOUD B'i'RON. 13 Kim with kindness, and describes him as a devout, clever little man, of mild manners, good-natured and pains-taking-. His third instructor was a serious, saturnine, kind young man, the son of a shoemaker, but a good scholar and a rigid Presbyterian. It is somewhat curious, in the record which Byron has made of his early years, to observe the constant endeavour with which he, the descendant of a limitless pedigree, attempts to magnify the condition of his mother's circumstances. This man attended him until he went to the grammar- school, where his character first began to be deve- loped ; and some of his schoolfellows still recollect him as a lively, warm-hearted, and high-spirited boy, passionate and resentful, but withal affectionate and companionable ; this, however, is an opinion given of him after he had become celebrated ; for a different im- pression has unquestionably remained among some, who carry their recollections back to his childhood. By them he has been described as a malignant imp ; and generally disliked for the vindictive anger he re- tained against those with whom he happened to quarrel. By the death of William, the fifth Lord, he suc- ceeded to the estates and titles in the year 1798 ; and in the autumn of that year, Mrs. Byron, with her son and a faithful servant of the name of Mary Gray, left Aberdeen for Newstead. Previously to their depar- ture, Mrs. Byron sold the furniture of her humble lodging, with the exception of her little plate and scanty linen, which she took with her, and the whole amount of the sale did not yield Seventy-five Pounds. 14 THE LIFE OF CHAPTER II. Moral effects of local scenery ; a peculiarity in taste.— Early love.— Im- pressions and traditions. Before I proceed to the regular narrative of the character and adventures of Lord Byron, it seems necessary to consider the probable effects of his resi- dence, during his boyhood, in Scotland. It is generally agreed, that while a schoolboy in Aberdeen, he evinced a lively spirit, and sharpness enough to have equalled any of his schoolfellows, had he given sufficient application ; and he was, undoubtedly, delicately susceptible of impressions from the beau- ties of nature, for he retained recollections of the scenes which interested his childish wonder, fresh and glowing, to his latest days. Nor have there been wanting plausible theories to ascribe the formation of his poetical character to the contemplation of those romantic scenes. But, whoever has attended to the influential causes of character, will reject such theories as shallow. Genius of every kind belongs to some innate temperament ; it does not necessarily imply a particular bent, because that may possibly be the effect of circumstances ; but, without question, the peculiar quality is inborn, and particular to the individual. All hear and see much alike ; but there is an unclefin- able though wide difference between the ear of the musician, or the eye of the painter, compared with the hearing and seeing organs of ordinary men ; and it is in* something like that difference in which genius consists. Genius is, however, an ingredient of mind LORD BYROIST. 15 more easily described by its effect than by its qualities. It is as the fragrance, independent of the freshness and complexion, of the rose; as the light on the cloud; as the bloom on the cheek of beauty, of which the possessor is unconscious until the charm has been seen by its influence on others ; it is the internal golden flame of the opal ; a something which may be ab- stracted from the thing in which it appears, without changing the quality of its substance, its form, or its affinities. I am not, therefore, disposed to consider the idle and reckless childhood of Byron, as unfavour- able to the development of his genius ; but on the contrary, inclined to think that the indulgence of his mother, leaving him so much to the accidents of un- disciplined impression, was calculated to cherish as- sociations which rendered them, in the maturity of his powers, ingredients of the spell that ruled his destiny. It is singular, that with all his tender and impas- sioned apostrophes to love, Byron has in no instance, not even in the freest passages of Don Juan, joined it w T ith sensual images, elegantly as he has described voluptuous beauty. The extravagance of Shakspeare's Juliet, when she speaks of Romeo being cut after death into stars, that all the world may be in love with night, is flame and ecstasy compared to the icy metaphysical glitter of Byron's amorous allusions. The verses beginning with She walks in beauty like the light Of eastern climes and starry skies, is a perfect example of what I have conceived of his bodiless admiration, and objectless enthusiasm. The sentiment itself is unquestionably in the highest mood of the intellectual sense of beauty ; the simile is, however, any thing but such an image as woman would suggest. It is only the remembrance of some . impression or imagination of the loveliness of a twilight 16 THE LIFE OF applied to an object that awakened the same abstract general idea. The fancy which could conceive in its passion the charms of a female to be like the glow of the evening, or the general effect of the midnight stars, must have been enamoured of some beautiful abstrac- tion, rather than aught of flesh and blood. Poets and lovers have compared the complexion of their mis- tresses to the hues of the morning or of the evening, and their eyes to the dew-drops and the stars ; but it has no place in the feelings of man to think of female charms in the sense of admiration which the beauties of the morning or evening awaken. It is to make the simile the principal. Perhaps, however, it may be as well to defer the criticism to which this peculiar cha- racteristic of Byron's amatory effusions gives rise, until we shall come to estimate his general powers as a poet. There is upon the subject of love, no doubt, much beautiful composition throughout his works ; but not one line in all the thousands which shows a sexual feeling — all is vague and passionless, save in the deli- cious rhythm of the verse, and in pure voluptuousness. But these remarks, though premature as criticisms, are not uncalled for here, even while we are speaking of a child not more than ten years old. Before Byron had attained that age, he describes himself as hav- ing felt the passion. Dante is said as early as nine years old to have fallen in love with Beatrice; Al- fieri, who was himself precocious in the passion, considered such early sensibility to be an unerring sign of a soul formed for the fine arts ; and Canova used to say that he was in love when but five years old. But these instances, however, prove nothing. Calf-love, as it is called in the country, is common ; and in Italy it may arise earlier than in the bleak and barren regions of Lochynagar. This movement of juvenile sentiment is not, however, love — that strong masculine avidity, which, in its highest excitement, is unrestrained by the laws alike of God and man. LORD EYHOK. 17 In truth, the feeling of this kind of love is the very- reverse of the irrepressible passion : it is a mean, shrinking, stealthy awe, and in no one of its symp- toms, at least in none of those which Byron describes, has it the slightest resemblance to that bold energy which has prompted men to undertake improbable ad- ventures. He was not quite eight years old when, according to his own account, he formed an impassioned attach- ment to Mary Duff; and he gives the following ac- count of his recollections of her, nineteen years after- wards : " I have been thinking lately a good deal of Mary Duff. How very odd that I should have been so devotedly fond of that girl, at an age when I could neither feel passion, nor know the meaning of the word and the effect! My mother used always to rally me about this childish amour, . and at last, many years after, when I was sixteen, she told me one day, ' Byron, I have had a letter from Edinburgh, and your old sweetheart, Mary Duff, is married to Mr. C****.' And what was my answer ? I really cannot explain or account for my feelings at that moment, but they nearly threw . me into convulsions, and alarmed my mother so much, that after I grew better she generally avoided the subject — to me — and con- tented herself with telling it to all her acquaintance." But was this agitation the effect of natural feeling, or of something in the manner in which his mother may have told the news ? He proceeds to inquire. " Now what could, this be ? I had never seen her since her mother's faux pas at Aberdeen had been the cause of her removal to her grandmother's, at Banff. We were both the merest children. I had, and have been, attached fifty times since that period ; yet I recol- lect all we said to each other, all our caresses, her eatures, my restlessness, sleeplessness, my tormenting my mother's maid to write for me to her, which she at c 13 THE LTFE OF last did to quiet me. Poor Nancy thought I was wild, and, as I could not write for myself, became my secretary. I remember too our walks, and the happi- ness of sitting by Mary, in the children's apartment, at their house, not far from the Plainstones, at Aberdeen, while her lesser sister, Helen, played with the doll, and we sat gravely making love in our own way. " How the deuce did all this occur so early? where could it originate ? I certainly had no sexual ideas for years afterwards, and yet my misery, my love for that girl, were so violent, that I sometimes doubt, if I have ever been really attached since. Ee that as it may, hearing of her marriage several years afterwards, was as a thunderstroke. It nearly choked me, to the horror of my mother, and the astonishment and almost incredulity of every body ; and it is a phenomenon in my existence, for I was not eight years old, which has puzzled and will puzzle me to the latest hour of it. And lately, I know not why, the recollection (not the attachment) has recurred as forcibly as ever : I wonder if she can have the least remembrance of it or me, or remember pitying her sister Helen, for not having an admirer too. How very pretty is the perfect image of her in my memory. Her brown dark hair and hazel eyes, her very dress — I should be quite grieved to see her now. The reality, however beautiful, would de- stroy, or at least confute, the features of the lovely Peri, which then existed in her, and still lives in my imagination, at the distance of more than sixteen years." Such precocious affections are, as already men- tioned, common among children, and is something very different from the love of riper years ; but the extract is curious, and shows how truly little and vague Byron's experience of the passion must have been. In his recollection, be it observed, there is no circum- stance noticed which shows, however strong the mutual LORD BYRON. 19 sympathy, the slightest influence of particular attrac- tion. He recollects the colour of her hair, the hue of her eye's, her very dress, and he remembers her as a Peri, a spirit ; nor does it appear that his sleepless restless - ness, in which the thought of her was ever uppermost, was produced by jealousy, or doubt, or fear, or any other concomitant of the passion. There is another most important circumstance in what may be called the Aberdonian epoch of Lord Byron's life. That, in his boyhood, he was possessed of lively sensibilities, is sufficiently clear ; that he enjoyed the advantage of indulging his humour and temper without restraint, is not disputable ; and that his natural tem- perament made him sensible in no ordinary degree, to the beauties of nature, is also abundantly manifest in all his productions ; but it is surprising that this ad- miration of the beauties of nature is but an ingredient in Byron's poetry, and not its most remarkable cha- racteristic. Deep feelings of dissatisfaction and dis- appointment are far more obvious ; they constitute, indeed, the very spirit of his works; and a spirit of such qualities is the least of all likely to have arisen from the contemplation of magnificent nature, or to have been inspired by studying her storms or serenity. Dissatisfaction and disappointment are the offspring of moral experience, and have no natural association with the forms of external things. The habit of asso- ciating morose sentiments with any particular kind of scenery, only shows that the sources of the sullenness arose in similar visible circumstances. It is from these premises I would infer, that the seeds of Byron's misanthropic tendencies were implanted during the " silent rages" of his childhood, and that the effect of mountain scenery, which continued so strong upon him after he left Scotland, producing the sentiments with which he has imbued his heroes in the wild cir- cumstances in which he places them, was mere remi- c 2 20 THE LIFE OF niscence and association. For although the sullen tone of his mind was not fully brought out until he wrote Childe Harold, it is yet evident from his Hours of Idleness, that he was tuned to that key before he went abroad. The dark colouring of his mind was plainly imbibed in a mountainous region, from sombre heaths, and in the midst of rudeness and grandeur. He had no taste for more cheerful images, and there is neither rural objects nor village play in the scenes he describes, but only loneness and the solemnity of mountains. To those who are acquainted with the Scottish character, it is unnecessary to suggest how very pro- bable it is that Mrs. Byron and her associates were addicted to the oral legends of the district and of her ancestors, and that the early fancy of the Poet was nourished with the shadowy descriptions in the tales o' the olden time : — at least this is manifest, that although Byron shows little of the melancholy and mourning of Ossian, he was yet evidently influenced by some strong bias and congeniality of taste, to brood and cogitate on topics of the same character as those of that bard. Moreover, besides the probability of his imagination having been early tinged with the sullen hue of the local traditions, it is remarkable that the longest of his juvenile poems is an imitation of the manner of the Homer of Morven. In addition to a natural temperament, kept in a state of continual excitement, by unhappy domestic incidents, and the lurid legends of the past, there were other causes in operation around the young Poet, that could not but greatly affect the formation of his character. Descended of a distinguished family, counting among its ancestors the fated line of the Scottish kings, and reduced almost to extreme poverty, it is highly probable, both from the violence of her temper, and the pride of blood, that Mrs. Byron would complain LORD BYRON*. 21 of the almost mendicant condition to which she was reduced, especially so long as there was reason to fear that her son was not likely to succeed to the family estates and dignity. Of his father's lineage, few tra- ditions were perhaps preserved, compared with those of his mother's family ; but still enough was known to impress the imagination. Mr. Moore, struck with this circumstance, has remarked, that " in reviewing the ancestors, both near and remote, of Lord Byron, it cannot fail to be remarked how strikingly he com- bined in his own nature some of the best and perhaps worst qualities that lie scattered through the various characters of his predecessors." But still it is to his mother's traditions of her ancestors that should be ascribed the conception of the dark and guilty beings in which he delighted. And though it may be con- tended that there was little in her conduct to exalt poetical sentiment, still there was a great deal in her condition calculated to affect and impel an impas- sioned disposition. Few situations were more likely to produce lasting recollections of affection than that in which Mrs. Byron, with her only child, was placed in Aberdeen. Whatever might have been the violence of her temper, or the improprieties of her afterlife, the fond and mournful caresses with which she used to hang over her lame and helpless orphan, must have greatly contributed to the formation of that morbid sensibility which became the chief characteristic of his life. The time he spent in Aberdeen can only be contemplated with pity, mingled with sorrow, still it must have been richly fraught with incidents of in^ conceivable value to the genius of the Poet. 22 THE LIFE OF CHAPTER III. Arrival at Newstead.— Find it in ruins.— The old lord and his crickets. The Earl of Carlisle becomes the guardian of Byron. — The Poet's acute sense of his own deformed foot. — His mother consults a fortune- teller. Mrs. Byron, on her arrival at Newstead Abbey with her son, found it almost in a state of ruin. After the equivocal affair of the duel, the old lord lived in absolute seclusion, detested by his tenantry, at war with his neighbours, and deserted by ail his family. He not only suffered the abbey to fall into decay, but alienated the land which should have kept it in repair, and denuded the estate of the timber. Byron has described the conduct of the morose peer in very strong terms : " After his trial he shut himself up at Newstead, and was in the habit of feeding crickets, which were his only companions. He made them so tame that they used to crawl over him, and when they were too fa- miliar, he whipped them with a wisp of straw : at his death, it is said, they left the house in a body." However this may have been, it is certain that Byron came to on embarrassed inheritance, both as respected his property and the character of his race ; and, per- haps, though his genius suffered nothing by the cir- cumstance, it is to be regretted that he was still left under the charge of his mother; a woman without judgment or self-command, alternately spoiling her child by indulgence, irritating him by her self-will, and, what was still worse, amusing him by her vio- lence, and disgusting him by fits of inebriety. Sym- LORD BYRON. 23 pathy for her misfortunes would be no sufficient apology for concealing her defects ; they undoubtedly had a material influence on her son, and her appear- ance was often the subject of his childish ridicule. She was a short and corpulent person. She rolled in her gait, and would, in her rage, sometimes endeavour to catch him for the purpose of inflicting punishment, while he would run round the room, mocking her menaces and mimicking her motion. The greatest weakness in Lord Byron's character was a morbid sensibility to his lameness. He felt it with as much vexation as if it had been inflicted ignominy. One of the most striking passages in some memoranda which he has left of his early days, is where, in speaking of his own sensitiveness on the subject of his deformed foot, he describes the feeling of horror and humiliation that came over him when his mother in one of her fits of passion, called him a " lame brat." The sense which he always retained of the inno- cent fault in his foot, was unmanly and excessive ; for it was not greatly conspicuous, and he had a mode of walking across a room by which it was scarcely at all perceptible. I was several days on board the same ship with him, before I happened to discover the de- fect ; it was indeed so well concealed, that it was a doubt whether his lameness was the effect of a tempo- rary accident or a malformation. On their arrival from Scotland, Byron was placed by his mother under the care of an empirical pre- tender of the name of Lavender, at Nottingham, who professed the cure of such cases ; and that he might not lose ground in his education, he was attended by a respectable schoolmaster, who read parts of Virgil and Cicero with him. Of this gentleman he always entertained a kind remembrance. Nor was his regard in this instance peculiar; for it may be said to have been a distinguishing trait in his character, to recollect 24 THE LIFE OE with affection, all who had been about him in his youth. The quack, however, was an exception, who (from having caused him to suffer much pain, and whose pretensions, even young as he then was, he de- tected) he delighted to expose. On one occasion, he scribbled down on a sheet of paper, the letters of the alphabet at random, but in the form of words and sentences, and placing them before Lavender, asked him gravely, what language it was. " Italian," was the reply, to the infinite amusement of the little satirist, who burst into a triumphant laugh at the success of his stratagem. It is said that about this time, the first symptom of his predilection for rhyming showed itself. An elderly lady, a visiter to his mother, had been indiscreet enough to give him some offence, and slights he ge- nerally resented with more energy than they often deserved. This venerable personage entertained a singular notion respecting the soul, which she be- lieved took its flight at death to the moon. One day, after a repetition of her original contumely, he appeared before his nurse in a violent rage, and complained ve- hemently of the old lady, declaring that he could not bear the sight of her, and then he broke out into the following doggerel, which he repeated over and over, crowing with delight. In Nottingham county, there lives at Swan-green, As curs' d an old lady as ever was seen ; And when she does die, which I hope will he soon, She firmly believes she will go to the moon. Mrs. Byron, by the accession of her son to the fa- mily honours and estate, received no addition to her small income ; and he, being a minor, was unable to make any settlement upon her. A representation of her case was made to government, and in consequence she was placed on the pension-list for 300/. a-year. Byron not having received any benefit from the Nottingham quack, was removed to London, put LORD EYROK. 25 under the care of Dr. Bailey, and placed in the school of Dr. Glennie, at Dulwich ; Mrs. Byron her- self took a house on Sloane Terrace. Moderation in all athletic exercises was prescribed to the boy, but Dr. Glennie had some difficulty in restraining his activity. He was quiet enough while in the house with the Doctor, but no sooner was he released to play, than he showed as much ambition to excel in violent exercises as the most robust youth of the school ; an ambition common to young persons who have the misfortune to labour under bodily defects. While under the charge of Dr. Glennie, he was playful, good-humoured, and beloved by his com- panions ; and addicted to reading history and poetry far beyond the usual scope of his age. In these studies he showed a predilection for the Scriptures ; and certainly there are many traces in his works which show that, whatever the laxity of his reli- gious principles may have been in afterlife, he was not unacquainted with the records and history of our religion. During this period, Mrs. Byron often indiscreetly interfered with the course of his education ; and if his classical studies were in consequence not so effec- tually conducted as they might have been r his mind derived some of its best nutriment from the loose de- sultory course of his reading. Among the books to which the boys at Dr. Glen- nie's school had access, was a pamphlet containing the narrative of a shipwreck on the coast of Arracan, filled with impressive descriptions. It had not at- tracted much public attention, but it was a favourite with the pupils, particularly with Byron, and fur- nished him afterwards with the leading circumstances in the striking description of the shipwreck in Don Juan, with the aid of his grandfather's adventures. Although the rhymes upon the lunar lady of Notts are supposed to have been the first twitter of his muse, 26 THE LIFE OF he lias said himself, " my first dash into poetry was as early as 1800. It was the ebullition of a passion for my first cousin, Margaret Parker. I was then about twelve, she rather older, perhaps a year." And it is curious to remark, that in his description of this beau- tiful girl there is the same lack of animal admiration which we have noticed in all his loves ; he says of her — " I do not recollect scarcely any thing equal to the transparent beauty of my cousin, or to the sweetness of her temper, during the short period of our intimacy : she looked as if she had been made out of a rainbow, all beauty and peace." This is certainly poetically ex- pressed ; but there was more true love in Pygmalion's passion for his statue, and in the Parisian maiden's adoration of the Apollo. When he had been nearly two years under the tuition of Dr. Glennie, he was removed to Harrow, chiefly in consequence of his mother's interference with his stu- dies, and especially by withdrawing him often from school. During the time he was under the care of Dr. Glen- nie he was more amiable than at any other period of his life; a circumstance which justifies the supposition, that had he been left more to the discipline of that re- spectable person, he would have proved a steadier man ; for however much his heart afterwards became incrusted with the leprosy of selfishness, at this period his feelings were warm and kind. Towards his nurse he evinced uncommon affection, which he cherished as long as she lived. He presented her with his watch, the first he possessed, and also a full-length miniature of himself, when he was only between seven and eight years old, representing him with a profusion of curling locks, and in his hands a bow and arrow. The sis- ter of this woman had been his first nurse, and after he had left Scotland he wrote to her, in a spirit which betokened a gentle and kind heart, informing her LORD BYRON. 27 with much joy of a circumstance highly important to himself. It was to tell her that at last he had got his foot so far restored as to be able to put on a common boot, an event which he was sure would give her great plea- sure ; to himself it is difficult to imagine any incident which could have been more gratifying. I dwell with satisfaction on these descriptions of his early dispositions ; for, although there are not wanting instances of similar warm-heartedness in his later years, still he never formed any attachments so pure and amiable after he went to Harrow. The change of life came over him, and when the vegetable period of boyhood was past, the animal passions mastered all the softer affections of his character. In the summer of 1801 he accompanied his mother to Cheltenham, and while he resided there the views of the Malvern hills recalled to his memory his enjoy- ments amidst the wilder scenery of Aberdeenshire. The recollections were reimpressed on his heart and in- terwoven with his strengthened feelings. But a boy gazing with emotion on the hills at sunset, because they remind him of the mountains where he passed his childhood, is no proof that he is already in heart and imagination a poet. To suppose so is to mistake the materials for the building. . The delight of Byron in contemplating the Malvern hills, was not because they resembled the scenery of Lochynagar, but because they awoke trains of thought and fancy, associated with recollections of that scenery. The poesy of the feeling lay not in the beauty of the objects, but in the moral effect of the traditions, to which these objects served as talismans of the me- mory. The scene at sunset reminded him of the Highlands, but it was those reminiscences which similar scenes recalled, that constituted the impulse, which gave life and elevation to his reflections. There is not more poesy in the sight of mountains than of plains ; it is the local associations that throw enchant- 28 .THE LIFE OF ment over all scenes, and resemblance that awakens them, binding them to new connexions : nor does this admit of much controversy ; for mountainous regions, however favourable to musical feeling, are but little to poetical. The Welsh have no eminent bard; the Swiss have no renown as poets ; nor are the mountainous regions of Greece, or of the Apennines, celebrated for poetry. The Highlands of Scotland, save the equivocal bas- tardy of Ossian, have produced no poet of any fame ; and yet mountainous countries abound in local le- gends, which would seem to be at variance with this opinion, were it not certain, though I cannot explain the cause, that local poetry, like local language, or local melody, is, in proportion to the interest it awakens among the local inhabitants, weak and ineffectual in its influence on the sentiments of the general world. The Rans de Vaches, the most celebrated of all local airs, is tame and commonplace — unmelodious, to all ears but those of the Swiss forlorn in a foreign land. While in Cheltenham, Mrs. Byron consulted a for- tuneteller respecting the destinies of her son, and, according to her feminine notions, she was very cun- ning and guarded with the sibyl, never suspecting that she might have been previously known, and, uncon- scious to herself, an object of interest to her. She endeavoured to pass herself off as a maiden lady, and regarded it as no small testimony of the wisdom of the oracle, that she declared her to be not only a married woman, but the mother of a son who was lame. After such a marvellous proof of second-sightedness, it may easily be conceived with what awe and faith she listened to the prediction that his life should be in danger from poison before he was of age, and that ~ he should be twice married ; . the second time to a foreign lady. Whether it was this same fortuneteller who foretold that he would, in his twenty-seventh year, incur some great misfortune, is not certain ; but LORD BYRON. 29 considering his unhappy English marriage, and his subsequent Italian liaison with the Countess Guiccioli, the marital prediction was not far from receiving its accomplishment. The fact of his marriage taking place in his twenty-seventh year, is at least a curious circumstance, and has been noticed by himself with a sentiment of superstition. 30 THE LIFE OF CHAPTER IV. Placed at Harrow.— Progress there.— Love for Miss Chawortb.— His reading.— Oratorical powers. In passing from the quiet academy of Dulwich Grove to the public school of Harrow, the change must have been great to any boy — to Byron it was punishment ; and for the first year and a half he hated the place. In the end, however, he rose to be a leader in all the sports and mischiefs of his school- fellows ; but it never could be said that he was a popular boy, however much he was distinguished for spirit and bravery; for if he was not quarrelsome, he was sometimes vindictive. Still it could not have been to any inveterate degree ; for undoubtedly, in his younger years, he was susceptible of warm impressions from gentle treatment, and his obstinacy and arbitrary humour were perhaps more the effects of unrepressed habit than of natural bias : they were the prickles which surrounded his genius in the bud. At Harrow he acquired no distinction as a student : indeed, at no period was he remarkable for steady application. Under Dr. Glennie he had made but little progress ; and it was chiefly in consequence of his backwardness that he was removed from his academy, i When placed with Dr. Drury it was with an intima- tion that he had a cleverness about him, but that his education had been neglected. The' early dislike which Byron felt towards the Earl LORD BYRON. 31 of Carlisle is abundantly well known, and lie had the magnanimity to acknowledge that it was in some re- spects unjust. But the antipathy was not all on one side ; nor will it be easy to parallel the conduct of the earl with that of any guardian. It is but justice, therefore, to make the public aware that the dislike began on the part of Lord Carlisle, and originated in some distaste which he took to Mrs. Byron's manners, and at the trouble she gave him on account of her son. Lord Carlisle had, indeed, much of the Byron hu- mour in him. His mother was a sister of the homicidal lord, and possessed some of the family peculiarity : she was endowed with great talent, and in her latter days she exhibited great singularity. She wrote beau- tiful verses and piquant epigrams ; among others, there is a poetical effusion of her pen addressed to Mrs. Greville, on her Ode to Indifference, which, at the time, was much admired, and has been, with other poems of her Ladyship, published in Pearch's collec- tion. After moving, for along time, as one of the most brilliant orbs in the sphere of fashion, she sud- denly retired, and like her morose brother, shut herself up from the world. While she lived in this seclusion, she became an object of the sportive satire of the late Mr. Fox, who characterized her as Carlisle, recluse in pride and rags. I have heard a still coarser apostrophe by the same gentleman. It seems they had quarrelled, and on his leaving her in the drawing-room, she called after him, that he might go about his business, for she did not care two skips of a louse for him. On coming to the hall, finding paper and ink on the table, he wrote two lines in answer, and sent it up to her Ladyship, to the effect that she always spoke of -what was running in her head. 32 THE LIFE OF ' Byron has borne testimony to the merits of his guardian, her son, as a tragic poet, by characterizing his publications as paper books. It is, however, said, that they nevertheless showed some talent, and that The Father's Revenge, one of the tragedies, was submitted to the judgment of Dr. Johnson, who did not despise it. But to return to the progress of Byron at Harrow ; it is certain that notwithstanding the affectionate solicitude of Dr. Drury to encourage him, he never became an eminent scholar ; at least, we have his own testimony to that effect, in the fourth canto of Childe Harold ; the lines, however, in which that testimony stands recorded, are amongst the weakest he ever penned. May he who will his recollections rake, And quote in classic raptures, and awake The hills with Latian echoes : I abhorr'd Too much to conquer, for the poet's sake, The drilFd, dull lesson forced down word by word, In my repugnant youth with pleasure to record. And, as an apology for the defect, he makes the fol- lowing remarks in a note subj oined : " I wish to express that we become tired of the task before we can comprehend the beauty ; that we learn by rote before we can get by heart ; that the freshness is worn away, and the future pleasure and advantage deadened and destroyed by the didactic anticipation, at an age when we can neither feel nor understand the power of compositions, which it re- quires an acquaintance with life, as well as Latin and Greek, to relish or to reason upon. For the same reason, we never can be aware of the fulness of some of the finest passages of Shakspeare (' To be, or not to be,' for instance), from the habit of having them ham- mered into us at eight years old, as an exercise not of mind but of memory ; so that when we are old enough to enjoy them, the taste is gone and the appetite LORD BYROtf. 33 palled. In some parts of the continent, young per- sons are taught from mere common authors, and do not read the best classics until their maturity. I cer- tainly do not speak on this point from any pique or aversion towards the place of my education. I was not a slow or an idle boy ; and I believe no one could be more attached to Harrow than I have always been, and with reason : a part of the time passed there was the happiest of my life ; and my preceptor, the Rev. Dr. Joseph Drury, was the best and worthiest friend I ever possessed ; whose warnings I have remembered but too well, though too late, when I have erred ; and whose counsels I have but followed when I have done well and wisely. If ever this imperfect record of my feelings towards him should reach his eyes, let it re- mind him of one who never thinks of him but with gratitude and veneration ; of one who would more gladly boast of having been his pupil if, by more closely following his injunctions, he could reflect any honour upon his instructor." Lord Byron, however, is not singular in his opinion of the inutility of premature classical studies; and notwithstanding the able manner in which the late Dean Vincent defended public education, we have some notion that his reasoning upon this point will not be deemed conclusive. Milton, says Dr. Vincent, complained of the years that were wasted in teaching the dead languages. Cowley also complained that classical education taught words only and not things ; and Addison deemed it an inexpiable error, that boys with genius or without were all to be bred poets indis- criminately. As far, then, as respects the education of a poet, we should think that the names of Mil- ton, Cowley, Addison, and Byron, would go well to settle the question ; especially when it is recollected how little Shakspeare was indebted to the study of the classics, and that Burns knew nothing of them at all. I do not, however, adopt the opinion as correct ; D 34 THE LIFE OF' neither do I think that Dean Vincent took a right view of the subject ; for, as discipline, the study of the classics may be highly useful, at the same time, the mere hammering of Greek and Latin into English cannot be very conducive to the refinement of taste or the exaltation of sentiment, Nor is there either com- mon sense or correct logic in the following observa- tions made on the passage and note, quoted by the anonymous author of Childe Harold's Monitor : " This doctrine of antipathies, contracted by the im- patience of youth against the noblest authors of anti- quity, from the circumstance of having been made the vehicle of early instruction, is a most dangerous doctrine indeed ; since it strikes at the root, not only of all pure taste, but of all praiseworthy industry. It would, if acted upon (as Harold by the mention of the continental practice of using inferior writers in the business of tuition would seem to recommend), destroy the great source of the intellectual vigour of our coun- trymen." ■ This is, undoubtedly, assuming too much ; for those who have objected to the years wasted in teaching the dead languages, do not admit that the labour of ac- quiring them either improves the taste or adds to the vigour of the understanding ; and, therefore, before the soundness of the opinion of Milton, of Cowley, of Addison, and of many other great men, can be re- jected, it falls on those who are of Dean Vincent's opinion, and that of Childe Harold's Monitor, to prove that the study of the learned languages is of so much primary importance as they claim for it. But it appears that Byron's mind, during the early period of his residence at Harrow, was occupied with another object than his studies, and which may partly account for his inattention to them. He fell in love with Mary Chaworth. " She was," he is represented to have said, " several years older than myself, but at my age boys like something older than themselves, as LORD BYRON. 35 they do younger later in life. Our estates adjoined, but owing to the unhappy circumstances of the feud (the affair of the fatal duel), our families, as is gene- rally the case with neighbours, who happen to be near relations, were never on terms of more than common civility, scarcely those. She was the beau ideal of all that my youthful fancy could paint of beautiful ! and I have taken all my fables about the celestial nature of women from the perfection my imagination created in her. I say created, for I found her, like the rest of the sex, any thing but angelic. I returned to Har- row, after my trip to Cheltenham, more deeply ena- moured than ever, and passed the next holidays at Newstead. I now began to fancy myself a man, and to make love in earnest. Our meetings were stolen ones, and my letters passed through the medium of a - confidant. A gate leading from Mr. Chaworth's grounds to those of my mother, was the place of our interviews, but the ardour was all on my side ; I was serious, she was volatile. She liked me as a younger brother, and treated and laughed at me as a boy; she, however, gave me her picture, and that was some- hing to make verses upon. Had I married Miss Cha- worth, perhaps the whole tenour of my life would have '■ j) been different ; she jilted me, however, but her mar- ! riage proved any thing but a happy one." It is to this attachment that we are indebted for the beautiful -- poem of the Dream, and to the stanzas beginning Oh, had my fate been joined to thine ! • Although this love affair a little interfered with his Greek and Latin, his time was not passed without some attention to reading. Until he was eighteen years old, he had never seen a review; but his general 'information was so extensive on modern topics, as to induce a suspicion that he could only have collected so ~auch information from reviews, as he was never seen d2 36 THE LIFE OF reading, but always idle, and in mischief, or at play. He was, however, a devourer of books ; he read eat- ing, read in bed, read when no one else read, and had perused all sorts of books from the time he first could spell, but had never read a review, and knew not what the name implied. It should be here noticed, that while he was at Harrow, his qualities were rather oratorical than poetical ; and if an opinion had then been formed of the likely result of his character, the prognostication would have led to the expectation of an orator. Alto- gether his conduct at Harrow indicated a clever, but not an extraordinary boy. He formed a few friendships there, in which his attachment appears to have been, in some instances remarkable. The late Duke of Dorset was his fag, and he was not consi- dered a very hard taskmaster. He certainly did not carry with him from Harrow any anticipation of that splendid career he was destined to run. LORD BYRON. 37 CHAPTER V. v Character at Harrow.— Poetical predilections.— Byron at Cambridge— His " Hours of Idleness," In reconsidering the four years which Byron spent „ at Harrow, while we can clearly trace the development of the sensibilities of his character, and an increased , tension of his susceptibility, by which impressions be- came more delicate, it seems impossible not to per- v ceive by the records which he has himself left of his feelings, that something morbid was induced upon them. Had he not afterwards so magnificently distin- guished himself as a poet, it is not probable that he would have been recollected by his schoolfellows as having been in any respect different from the common herd. His activity and spirit, in their controversies and quarrels, were but the outbreakings of that tem- perament which the discipline of riper years, and the natural awe of the world afterwards reduced into his hereditary cast of character, in which so much misan- thropy was exhibited . I cannot, however, think that there was any thing either in the nature of his pas- * times, or of his studies, unfavourable to the forma- tion of the poetical character. His amusements were * active ; his reading, though without method, was yet congenial to his impassioned imagination ; and the * phantom of an enthusiastic attachment, of which Miss Chaworth was not the only object (for it was altogether intellectual, and shared with others), were circun> 38 fHE LIFE OF stances calculated to open various sources of reflection, and to concentrate the elements of an energetic and original mind. But it is no easy matter to sketch what may have been the outline of a young poet's education. The supposition that poets must be dreamers, because there is often much dreaminess in poesy, is a mere hypothesis. Of all the professors of metaphysical discernment, poets require the finest tract ; and con- templation is with them a sign of inward abstract re- flection, more than of any process of mind by which resemblance is traced, and associations awakened. There is no account of any great poet, whose genius was of that dreamy kind, which hath its being in haze, and draws its nourishment from lights and shadows ; which ponders over the mysteries of trees, and interprets the oracles of babbling waters. They have all been men — worldly men, different only from others in reasoning, more by feeling than induction. Directed by impulse, in a greater degree than other men, poets are apt to be betrayed into actions which make them singular, as compared by those who are less imaginative ; but the effects of earnestness should never be confounded with the qualities of talent. No greater misconception has ever been obtruded upon the world as philosophic criticism, than the theory of poets being different from other men of high endowment, save in the single circumstance of the objects to which their taste is attracted.* The * " The greatest poets that ever lived," says the tasteful author of an Introduction to the Greek Classic Poets, " have, without exception, been the wisest men of their time j" and he adds, " the knowledge of the mind and its powers — of the passions and their springs — the love and study of the beautiful forms of the visible creation, this it is which can alone teach a man to think in sympathy with the great body of his fellow-creatures, and enable him to draw back the veil which different manners and various costume have spread over the unchangeable face of humanity. In this sense, is it not true that Homer and Dante LORD BYR03T. 39 most vigorous poets, those who have influenced longest and are most quoted, have indeed been all men of great shrewdness of remark. To adduce many in- stances is unnecessary. Are there any symptoms of the gelatinous character in the compositions of Homer? The London Gazette does not tell us things more like facts than the narratives of Homer do, and it often states facts that are much more like fictions than his most poetical inventions. So much is this the case with the works of all the higher poets, that as they recede from that worldly standard which is found in the Epics of Homer, they sink in the scale of poets. In what does the inferiority of Virgil, for example, consist, but in his having hatched fancies in his con- templations which the calm mind rejects as absurdi- ties. Then Tasso, with his enchanted forests and his other improbabilities; are they more than childish tales? tales, too, not infancy to be compared with those of that venerable drynurse, Mother Bunch. Compare the poets that babble of green fields with those who deal in the actions and passions of men, and it must be confessed that it is not those who have looked at external nature who are the true poets, but those who have seen and considered most about the business and bosom of man. It may be an advantage that a poet should have the benefit of landscapes and storms, as children are the better for country air and cow's milk ; but the true scene of their manly work is in the popu- lous city. Inasmuch as Byron was a lover of solitude, he was deficient as an observer of men. The barrenest portion as to materials for biography, and Milton were learned in an extraordinary degree ; "but mo re than all, Shakspeare : " On the tip of his subduing tongue, All kinds of arguments and questions deep, All replication prompt and reason strong, For his advantage still did wake and sleep, C, To make the weeper laugh— the laugher weep !" 40 THE LIFE OF in the life of this interesting poet, is the period he spent at the University of Cambridge. Like that of most young men, the major part of his time was passed between the metropolis and the university. Still it was in that period he composed the different poems which make up the little volume of The Hours of Idleness ; a work which will ever be regarded, more by its consequences than its importance, as of great influence on the character and career of the Poet. It has been supposed, I see not how justly, that there was affectation in the title. It is probable that Byron intended no more by it than to imply that its contents were sketches of leisure. This is the less doubtful, as he was at that period particularly sensi- tive concerning the opinion that might be entertained of his works. Before he made the collection, many of the pieces had been circulated, and he had gathered opinions as to their merits with a degree of solicitude that can only be conceived by those who were ac- quainted with the constantly excited sensibility of his mind. When he did publish the collection, nothing appeared in the style and form of the publication that indicated any arrogance of merit. On the contrary, it was brought forward with a degree of diffidence, which, if it did not deserve the epithet of modesty, could incur nothing harsher than that of bashfulness. It was printed at the obscure market-town press of Newark, was altogether a very homely, rustic work, and no attempt was made to bespeak for it a good name from the critics. It was truly an innocent affair and an unpretending performance. But not- withstanding these, at least seeming qualities of young doubtfulness, they did not soften the austere nature of the bleak and blighting criticism which was then characteristic of Edinburgh. A copy was somehow communicated to one of the critics -in that city, and was reviewed by him in the Edinburgh Review in an article replete with satire LORD BYROX. 41 and insinuations calculated to prey upon the author's feelings, while the injustice of the estimate which was made of his talent and originality, could not but be as iron in his heart.-* Owing to the severe, impression which it left, it ought to be preserved in every memoir which treats of the development of his genius and character: and for this reason it is inserted entire here, as one of the most influential documents perhaps in the whole extent of biography. - i 42 THE LIFE OF CHAPTER VI. Criticism of the Edinburgh Review. " The poesy of this young lord belongs to the class which neither God nor man are said to permit. In- deed we do not recollect to have seen a quantity of verse with so few deviations in either direction from that exact standard. His effusions are spread over a dead flat, and can no more get above or below the level than if they were so much stagnant water. As an extenuation of this offence, the noble author is peculiarly forward in pleading minority. We have it in the titlepage, and on the very back of the volume ; it follows his name like a favourite part of his style. Much stress is laid upon it in the preface ; and the poems are connected with this general statement of his case by particular dates, substantiating the age at which each was written. Now the law upon the point of minority we hold to be perfectly clear. It is a plea available only to the defendant : no plaintiff can offer it as a supplementary ground of action. Thus, if any suit could be brought against Lord Byron, for the pur- pose of compelling him to put into court a certain quantity of poetry, and if judgment were given against him, it is highly probable that an exception would be taken, were he to deliver for poetry the contents of this volume. To this he might plead minority; but as he now makes voluntary tender of the article, LORD BYRON. 43 he hath no right to sue on that ground for the price in good current praise, should the goods be unmarketable. This is our view of the law on the point ; and we dare to say, so it will be ruled. Perhaps, however, in reality, all that he tells us about his youth is rather with a view to increase our wonder, than to soften our censures. He possibly means to say, ' See how a minor can write ! This poem was actually composed by a young man of eighteen ; and this by one of only sixteen !' But, alas, we all remember the poetry of Cowley at ten, and Pope at twelve ; and, so far from hearing with any degree of surprise that very poor verses were written by a youth from his leaving school to his leaving college inclusive, we really believe this to be the most common of all occurrences ; — that it happens in the life of nine men in ten who are educa- ted in England, and that the tenth man writes better verse than Lord Byron. " His other plea of privilege our author brings for» ward to wave it. He certainly, however, does allude frequently to his family and ancestors, sometimes in poetry, sometimes in notes ; and while giving up his claim on the score of rank, he takes care to remind us of Dr. Johnson's saying, that when a nobleman appears as an author, his merit should be handsomely acknow- ledged. In truth, it is this consideration only that induces us to give Lord Byron's poems a place in our Review, besides our desire to counsel him, that he do forthwith abandon poetry, and turn his talents, which are considerable, and his opportunities, which are great, to better account. " With this view we must beg leave seriously to as- sure him, that the mere rhyming of the final syllable, even when accompanied by the presence of a certain number of feet ; nay, although (which does not always happen) these feet should scan regularly, and have been all counted upon the fingers, is not the whole art of poetry. We would entreat him to believe, that a 44 THE LIFE OF certain portion of liveliness, somewhat of fancy is necessary to constitute a poem ; and that a poem in the present day, to be read, must contain at least one thought, either in a little degree different from the ideas of former writers, or differently expressed. We put it to his candour, whether there is any thing so deserving the name of poetry, in verses like the fol- lowing, written in 1806, and whether, if a youth of eighteen could say any thing so uninteresting to his ancestors, a youth of nineteen should publish it : Shades of heroes, farewell ! your descendant departing From the seat of his ancestors bids you adieu ; Abroad or at home your remembrance imparting New courage, he'll think upon glory and you. Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation, 'Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret ; Far distant he goes with the same emulation, The fame of his fathers he ne'er can forget. That fame and that memory still will he cherish, He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown ; Like you will he live, or like you will he perish, When decay'd may he mingle his dust with your own. " Now, we positively do assert, that there is nothing better than these stanzas in the whole compass of the noble minor's volume. " Lord Byron should also have a care of attempting what the greatest poets have done before him, for comparisons (as he must have had occasion to see at his writing-master's) are odious. Gray's ode to Eton College should really have kept out the ten hobbling stanzas on a distant view of the village and school at Harrow. Where fancy yet joys to trace the resemblance \ Of comrades in friendship or mischief allied, How welcome to me your ne'er-fadiug remembrance, Which rests in the bosom, though hope is denied. LORD BYRON. 45 " In like manner, the exquisite lines of Mr. Rogers, c On a Tear,' might have warned the noble author of these premises, and spared us a whole dozen such stanzas as the following: Mild charity's glow, To us mortals below, Shows the soul from barbarity clear ; Compassion will melt. Where the virtue is felt, And its dew is diffused in a tear. The man doom'd to sail With the blast of the gale, Through billows Atlantic to steer, As he bends o'er the wave, Which may soon be his grave, The green sparkles bright with a tear. " And so of instances in which former poets ha d failed. Thus, we do not think Lord Byron was made for translating, during his nonage, Adrian's Address to his Soul, when Pope succeeded indifferently in the attempt. If our readers, however, are of another opi~ nion, they may look at it. Ah ! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring sprite, Friend and associate of this clay, To what unknown region borne Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight ? No more with wonted humour gay,- But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn. " However, be this as it may, we fear his transla- tions and imitations are great favourites with Lord Byron. We have them of all kinds, from Anacreon to Ossian : and, viewing them as school exercises, they may pass. Only why print them after they have had their day and served their turn ? And why call the thing in p. 79 a translation, where two words {9e\o Xeyav) of the original are expanded into four lines, and the other thing in p. 81, where iisgowktikiq 7ro0' bpaig is rendered, by means of six hobbling verses. As to his Ossian poesy, we are not very good judges ; 46 THE LIFE OF being, in truth, so moderately skilled in that species of composition, that we should, in all probability, be" criticising some bit of genuine Macpherson itself, were we to express our opinion of Lord Byron's rhapsodies* If, then, the following beginning of a Song of Bards is by his Lordship, we venture to object to it, as far as we can comprehend it : ' What form rises on the roar of clouds, whose dark ghost gleams on the red stream of tempests ? His voice rolls on the thunder ; 'tis Oila, the brown chief of Otchona. He was,' &c. After detaining this ' brown chief some time, the bards con- clude by giving him their advice to ' raise his fair locks ;' then to i spread them on the arch of the rainbow ;' and to 'smile through the tears of the storm/ Of this kind of thing there are no less than nine pages : and we can so far venture an opinion in their favour, that they look very like Macpherson ; and we are positive they are pretty nearly as stupid and tiresome. " It is some sort of privilege of poets to be egotists ; but they should i use it as not abusing it;' and par- ticularly one who piques himself (though, indeed, at the ripe age of nineteen) on being an infant bard — The artless Helicon I boast is youth, should either not know, or should seem not to know, so much about his own ancestry. Besides a poen., above cited, on the family seat of the Byrons, we have another of eleven pages on the selfsame subject, intro- duced with an apology * he certainly had no intention of inserting it,' but really ' the particular request of some friends,' &c. &c. It concludes with five stanzas on himself, • the last and youngest of the noble line/ There is also a good deal about his maternal ancestors, in a poem on Lachion-y-Gair, a mountain, where he spent part of his youth, and might have learnt that pibroach is not a bagpipe, any more than duet means a fiddle. LORD BYRON. 47 u As the author has dedicated so large a part of his volume to immortalize his employments at school and college, we cannot possibly dismiss it without pre- senting the reader with a specimen of these ingenious effusions. " In an ode, with a Greek motto, called Granta,wz have the following magnificent stanzas : There, in apartments small and damp, The candidate for college prizes Sits poring by the midnight lamp, Goes late to bed, yet early rises : Who reads false quantities in Seale, Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle Deprived of many a wholesome meal, In barbarous Latin doom'd to wrangle. Renouncing every pleasing page From authors of historic use ; Preferring, to the letter'd sage, The square of the hypotheneuse. Still harmless are these occupations, That hurt none but the hapless student, Compared with other recreations Which bring together the imprudent. " We are sorry to hear so bad an account of the college-psalmody, as is contained in the following attic stanzas : Our choir could scarcely be excused, Even as a band of raw beginners ; All mercy now must be refused To such a set of croaking sinners. If David, when his toils were ended, Had heard these blockheads sing before him, To us his psalms had ne'er descended — In furious mood he would have tore 'em. " But whatever judgment may be passed on the poems of this noble minor, it seems we must take them ' as we find them, and be content ; for they are the last we shall have ever from him. He is at best, he says, but an intruder into the groves of Parnassus ; he never 48 THE LIFE OF lived in a garret, like thorough-bred poets; and though he once roved a careless mountaineer in the Highlands of Scotland, he has not of late enjoyed this advan- tage. Moreover, he expects no profit from his pub- lication ; and whether he succeeds or not, it is highly- improbable, from his situation and pursuits, that he should again condescend to become an author. There- fore, let us take what we get and be thankful. "What right have we poor devils to be nice ? We are well off to have got so much from a man of this Lord's station, who does not live in a garret, but has got the sway of Newstead Abbey. Again we say, let us be thankful ; and, with honest Sancho, bid God bless the giver, nor look the gift-horse in the mouth." The criticism is ascribed to Mr. Francis Jeffrey, an eloquent member of the Scottish bar, and who was at that time supposed to be the editor of the Edinburgh Review. That it was neither just nor fair is suffi- ciently evident, by the degree of artificial point with which it has been drawn up. Had the poetry been as insignificant as the critic affected to consider it, it would have argued little for the judgment of Mr. Jeffrey to take so much pains on a work which he con- sidered worthless. But the world has no cause to re- pine at the severity of his strictures, for they unques- tionably had the effect of kindling the indignation of Byron, and of instigating him to that retaliation which he so spiritedly inflicted in his satire of English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. It is amusing to compare the respective literary re- putation of the poet and the critic, as they are esti- mated by the public, now that the one is dead, and the other dormant. The voice of all the age acknow- ledges Byron to have been the greatest poetical genius of his time. Mr. Jeffrey though still enjoying the LORD BYROF. 49 renown of being* a shrewd and intelligent critic of the productions of others, has established no right to the honour of being an original, or eminent author. At the time when Byron published the satire alluded to, he had obtained no other distinction than the col- lege reputation of being a clever, careless, dissipated student. But his dissipation was not intense, nor did it ever become habitual. He affected to be much more so than he was : his pretensions were moderated by constitutional incapacity. His health was not vigor- ous ; and his delicacy defeated his endeavours to show that he inherited the recklessness of his father. - He af- fected extravagance and eccentricity of conduct, with- out yielding much to the one, or practising a great deal of the other. He was seeking notoriety ; and his at- tempts to obtain it gave more method to his pranks and follies than belonged to the results of natural im- pulse and passion. He evinced occasional instances of the generous spirit of youth ; but there was in them more of ostentation, than of that discrimination which d'gnifies kindness, and makes prodigality munificence. Nor were his attachments towards those with whom he preferred to associate, characterized by any nobler sentiment than self-indulgence; he was attached, more from the pleasure he himself received in their society, than from any reciprocal enjoyment they had with him. As he became a man of the world, his early friends dropped from him ; although it is evident, by all the contemporary records of his feelings, that he cherished for them a kind, and even brotherly, affection. This secession, the common effect of the new cares, hopes, interests, and wishes, which young men feel on en- tering the world, Byron regarded as something analo- gous to desertion ; and the notion tainted his mind, and irritated that hereditary sullenness of humour, which constituted an ingredient so remarkable in the composition of his more mature character. An anecdote of this period, characteristic of his 50 THE LIFE OF eccentricity, and the means which he scrupled not to employ in indulging it, deserves to be mentioned. In repairing Newstead Abbey, a skull was found in a secret niche of the walls. It might have been that of the monk which haunted the house, or of one of his own ancestors, or of some victim of the morose race. It was converted into a goblet, and used at Odin- like orgies. Though the affair was but a whim of youth, more odious than poetical, it caused some talk, and raised around the extravagant host the haze of a mystery, suggesting fantasies of irreligion and horror. The inscription on the cup is not remarkable either for point or poetry. Start not, nor deem my spirit fled ; In me behold the only skull, From which, unlike a living head, Whatever flows is never dull. I liv'd, I lov'd, I quaff' d like thee ; I died, but earth my bones resign : Fill up — thou canst not injure me, The worm hath fouler lips than thine. Better to hold the sparkling grape Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood, And circle in the goblet's shape The drink of gods than reptiles' food. Where once my wit perchance hath shone, In aid of others let me shine ; And when, alas, our brains are gone, What nobler substitute than wine ? Quaff while thou canst — another race, When thou and thine like me are sped, May rescue thee from earth's embrace, And rhyme and revel with the dead. Why not ? since through life's little day, Our heads such sad effects produce ; Redeem'd from worm's and wasting clay, 1 This chance is theirs, to be of use. LORD BYRON. 51 CHAPTER VII. Effect of the criticism in the Edinburgh Review. — English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. — His satiety. — Intention to travel. — Publisheshis satire. — Takes his seat in the House of Lords. — Departs for Lisbon j thence to Gibraltar. The impression which the criticism of the Edinburgh Review produced upon the juvenile poet was deep and envenomed. But the paroxysms did not endure long; strong volitions of revenge succeeded, and the grasps of his mind were filled, as it were, with writhing adders. All the world knows, that this unquenchable indignation found relief in the composition of English Bards and Scotch Reviewers ; a satire which, in many- passages, equals, in fervour and force, the most vigo- rous in the language. It was during the summer of 1808, while the poet was residing at Newstead, that English Bards and Scotch Reviewers was principally written. He bestow- ed more pains upon it than perhaps on any other of his works ; and, though different from them all, it still exhibits strong indications of the misanthropy with which, after quitting Cambridge, he showed himself so possessed. It is painful to reflect, in considering the splendid energy displayed in the poem, that the unprovoked malice which directed him to make the satire so general, was perhaps the main cause of that disposition to wither his reputation, afterwards so fer- vently roused. He could not but expect, that, in stigmatizing with contempt and ridicule so many per- e2 52 THE LIFE OF sons by name, some of them would retaliate. Nor could he complain of injustice if they did ; for his attack was so wilful, that the rage of it can only be explained by supposing he was instigated to "the one fell swoop," by a resentful conviction, that his impillory in the Edinburgh Review had amused them all. I do not conceive, that the generality of the satire can be well extenuated ; but it was not a very heinous offence. The ability displayed in it is a sufficient com- pensation. The beauty of the serpent's skin appeases the aversion to its nature. But, without regard to the merits or delinquency of the poem, to the acumen of its animadversions, or to the polish of the lines, it possesses, in the biography of the author, a value of the most interesting kind. It was the first burst of that dark, diseased ichor, which afterwards coloured his effusions ; the overflowing sup- puration of that satiety, which rendered Chilcle Harold, in particular, so original, incomprehensible, and anti- social ; and bears testimony to the state of his feelings at that important epoch, while he was yet upon the threshold of the world, and was entering it with a sense of failure and premature disgust. For, not- withstanding his own unnecessary expositions concern- ing his dissipation, it is beyond controversy, that at no time could it be said that he was dissipated. That he in- dulged in occasional excesses is true ; but his habits were never libertine, nor did his health permit him to be distinguished in licentiousness. The declaration in which he first discloses his sobriety, contains more truth than all his pretensions to his father's qualities. " I took my gradations in the vices," says he, in that remarkable confession, " with great promptitude, but they were not to my taste; for my early passions, though violent in the extreme, were concentrated, and hated division or spreading abroad. I could have left or lost the whole world with or for that which I loved; faut, though my temperament was naturally burning, I LOUD BYRCTN-. 53 could not share in the common libertinism of the place and time without disgust ; and yet this very disgust, and my heart thrown back upon itself, threw me into excesses perhaps more fatal than those from which I shrunk, as fixing upon one at a time the passions, which, spread amongst many, would have hurt only myself." This is vague and metaphysical enough ; but it bears corroborative intimations, that the impression which he early made upon me was not incorrect. He was vain of his experiments in profligacy, but they never grew to habitude. While he was engaged in the composition of his satire, he formed a plan of travelling; but there was a great shortcoming between the intention and the performance. He first thought of Persia ; — he after- ward resolved to sail for India; and had so far ma- tured this project, as to write for information to the Arabic professor at Cambridge ; and to his mother, who was not then with him at Newstead, to inquire of a friend, who had resided in India, what things would be necessary for the voyage. He formed his plan of travelling upon different reasons from those which he afterwards gave out, and which have been imputed to him. He then thought that all men should in some period of their lives travel ; he had at that time no tie to prevent him; he conceived that when he returned home he might be induced to enter into political life, to which his having travelled would be an advantage ; and he wished to know the world by sight, and to judge of men by experience. When his satire was ready for the press, he carried it with him to London. He was then just come of age, or about to be so ; and one of his objects in this visit to the metropolis was, to take his seat in the House of Lords before going abroad ; but, in advancing to this proud distinction, so soothing to the self-importance of youth, he was destined to suffer a mortification which probably wounded him as deeply as the sarcasms of 54 THE LIFE OF the Edinburgh Review. Before the meeting of Par- liament, he wrote to his relation and guardian, the Earl of Carlisle, to remind him that he should be of age at the commencement of the Session, in the natural hope that his Lordship would make an offer to introduce him to the House, but he was disappointed. He only received a formal reply, acquainting him with the tech- nical mode of proceeding, and the etiquette to be observed on such occasions. It is therefore not won- derful that he should have resented such treatment ; and he avenged it by those lines in his satire, for which he afterwards expressed his regret in the third canto of Childe Harold. Deserted by his guardian at a crisis so interesting, he was prevented for some time from taking his seat in Parliament, being obliged to procure affidavits in proof of his grandfather's marriage with Miss Trevannion, which having taken place in a private chapel at Car- hais, no regular certificate of the ceremony could be produced. At length all the necessary evidence hav- ing been obtained, on the 13th of March, 1809, he presented himself in the House of Lords alone — a pro- ceeding consonant to his character, for he was not so friendless nor unknown, but that he might have pro- cured some peer to have gone with him. It however served to make his introduction remarkable. On entering the House, he was abashed and pale : he passed the woolsack without looking round, and ad- vanced to the table where the proper officer was at- tending to administer the oaths. When he had gone through them, the chancellor quitted his seat, and went towards him with a smile, putting out his hand in a friendly manner to welcome him ; but he made a stiff bow, and only touched with the tip of his fingers the chancellor's hand, who immediately returned to his seat. Such is the account given of this important incident by Mr. Dallas, who went with him to the bar; but a characteristic circumstance is wanting. When LORD BYRON". 55 Lord Eldon advanced with the cordiality described, he expressed with becoming- courtesy his regret that the rules of the House had obliged him to call for the evi- dence of his grandfather's marriage. Lord Byron says, in his own account, " I begged him to make no apology, and added (as he had shown no violent hurry), * Your Lordship was exactly like Tom Thumb (which was then being acted), you did your duty, and you did no more.' " The satire was published anonymously, and imme- diately attracted attention ; the sale was rapid, and a new edition being called for, Byron revised it. The preparations for his travels being completed, he then embarked in July of the same year, with Mr. Hob house, for Lisbon, and thence proceeded by the southern pro- vinces of Spain to Gibraltar. In the account of his adventures during this jour- ney, he seems to have felt, to an exaggerated degree, the hazards to which he was exposed. But many of his descriptions are given with a bright pen. That of Lisbon has always been admired for its justness, and the mixture of force and familiarity. What beauties doth Lisboa's port unfold ! Her image floating on. that noble tide, Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold", But now Avhereon a thousand keels did ride, Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied ; And to the Lusians did her aid afford. A nation swoln with ignorance and pride, Who lick yet loath the hand that waves the sword To save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord. But whoso entereth within this town, That sheening far celestial seems to be, Disconsolate will wander up and down 'Mid many things unsightly strange to see, For hut and palace show like filthily The dingy denizens are reared in dirt ; No personage of high or mean degree Doth care for cleanness of surtout and shirt, Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwash'd, unhurt. 56 THE LIFE OP Considering the interest which he afterwards took in the affairs of Greece, it is remarkable that he should have passed through Spain, at the period he has de- scribed, without feeling any sympathy with the spirit which then animated that nation. Intent, however, on his travels, pressing onward to an unknown goal, he paused not to inquire as to the earnestness of the patriotic zeal of the Spaniards, nor once dreamt, even for adventure, of taking a part in their heroic cause. LORD BYRON, 57 CHAPTER VIII. First acquaintance with Byron.— Embark together. — The voyage. It was at Gibraltar that I first fell in with Lord Byron. I had arrived there in the packet from Eng- land, in indifferent health, on my way to Sicily, with no intention of travelling. I only went a trip, intend- ing to return home after spending a few weeks in Malta, Sicily, and Sardinia. At this time my friend, the late Colonel Wright, of the artillery, was secretary to the governor ; and, during the short stay of the packet at the rock, he in- vited me to the hospitalities of his house, and among other civilities gave me admission to the garrison library. The day was exceedingly sultry. The air was sickly ; and if the wind was not a sirocco, it was a withering levanter — oppressive to the functions of life, and to an invalid denying all exercise. Instead of rambling over the fortifications, I was, in conse- quence, constrained to spend the hottest part of the day in the library ; and, while sitting there, a young man came in and seated himself opposite to me at the table. Something in his appearance attracted my at- tention. His dress indicated a Londoner of some fashion, partly by its neatness and simplicity, with just so much of a peculiarity of style as served to show, that although he belonged to the order of me- tropolitan beaux, he was not altogether a common one. 58 THE LIFE OF I thought his face not unknown tome; I began to conjecture where I could have seen him; and, after an unobserved scrutiny, to speculate both as to his cha- racter and vocation. His physiognomy was prepossess- ing and intelligent, but ever and anon his brows low- ered and gathered ; a habit, as I then thought, with a degree of affectation in it, probably first assumed for picturesque effect and energetic expression ; but which I afterwards discovered was undoubtedly the occasional scowl of some unpleasant reminiscence : it was cer- tainly disagreeable — forbidding — but still the general cast of his features was impressed with elegance and character. At dinner, a large party assembled at Colonel Wright's ; among others the Countess of Westmorland, with Tom Sheridan and his beautiful wife ; and it hap- pened that Sheridan, in relating the local news of the morning, mentioned that Lord Byron and Mr. Hob- house had come in from Spain, and were to proceed up the Mediterranean in the packet. He was not acquainted with either. Hobhouse had, some short time before I left Lon- don, published certain translations and poems, rather respectable in their way, and I had seen the work, so that his name was not altogether strange to me. Byron's was familiar — the Edinburgh Review had made it so, and still more the satire of English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, but I was not conscious of having seen the persons of either. On the following evening I embarked early, and soon after the two travellers came on board ; in one of whom I recognised the visiter to the library, and he proved to be Lord Byron. In the little bustle and pro- cess of embarking their luggage, his Lordship affected, as it seemed to me, more aristocracy than befitted his years, or the occasion ; and then I thought of his singular scowl, and suspected him of pride and iras- cibility. The impression that evening was not agree- LORD BYHON. 59 able, but it was interesting ; and that forehead mark, the frown, was calculated to awaken curiosity, and beget conjectures. Hobhouse, with more of the commoner, made him- self one of the passengers at once ; but Byron held himself aloof, and sat on the rail, leaning on the mizzen shrouds, inhaling, as it were, poetical sym- pathy, from the gloomy rock, then dark and stern in the twilight. There was in all about him that evening much waywardness ; he spoke petulantly to Fletcher, his valet ; and was evidently ill at ease with himself, and fretful towards others. I thought he would turn out an unsatisfactory shipmate ; yet there was something redeeming in the tones of his voice, and when, some time after having indulged his sullen meditation, he again addressed Fletcher ; so that, instead of finding him illnatured, I was soon convinced he was only capricious. Our passage to Sardinia was tardy, owing to calms ; but, in other respects, pleasant. About the third day Byron relented from his rapt mood, as if he felt it was out of place, and became playful, and disposed to contribute his fair proportion to the general endeavour to wile away the tediousness of the dull voyage. Among other expedients for that purpose, we had recourse to shooting at bottles. Byron supplied the pistols, and was the best shot, but not very pre-eminently so. In the calms, the jolly-boat was several times lowered ; and, on one of those occasions, his Lordship, with the captain, caught a turtle — I rather think two — we like- wise hooked a shark, part of which was dressed for breakfast, and tasted, without relish. As we approached the gulf of Cagliari, in Sardinia, a strong north wind came from the shore, and we had a whole disagreeable day of tacking ; but next morn- ing, it was Sunday, we found ourselves at anchor near the Mole, where we landed. Byron, with the captain, rode out some distance into the country, while I 60 THE LIFE OP walked with Mr. Hobhouse about the town : we left our cards for the consul, and Mr. Hill, the ambassa- dor, who invited us to dinner. In the evening we landed again, to avail ourselves of the invitation; and, on this occasion, Byron and his companion dressed themselves as aid-de-camps — a circumstance which, at the time, appeared less exceptionable in the young peer than in the commoner. Had we parted at Cagliari, it is probable that I should have retained a much more favourable recollec- tion of Mr. Hobhouse than of Lord Byron ; for he was a cheerful companion, full of odd and droll stories, which he told extremely well ; he was also good- humoured and intelligent — altogether an advanta- geous specimen of a well-educated English gentleman. Moreover, I was at the time afflicted with a nervous dejection, which the occasional exhilaration produced by his anecdotes and college tales often materially dissipated, though, for the most part, they were more after the manner and matter of Swift than of Addison. Byron was, during the passage, in delicate health, and upon an abstemious regimen. He rarely tasted wine, nor more than half a glass, mingled with water, when he did. He ate little ; no animal food, but only bread and vegetables. He reminded me of the gowl that picked rice with a needle ; for it was manifest, that he had not acquired his knowledge of the world by always dining so sparely. If my remembrance is not treacherous, he only spent one evening in the cabin with us — the evening before we came to anchor at Cagliari ; for, when the lights were placed, he made himself a man forbid, took his station on the railing, between the pegs on which the sheets are belayed and the shrouds, and there, for hours, sat in silence, ena- moured, it may be, of the moon. All these peculiari- ties, with his caprices, and something inexplicable in the cast of his metaphysics, while they served to awaken interest, contributed little to conciliate esteem. He 10RD BYRON. 61 was often strangely rapt — it may have been from his genius ; and, had its grandeur and darkness been then divulged, susceptible of explanation; but, at the time,- it threw, as it were, around him the sackcloth of penitence. Sitting amidst the shrouds and rattlings, in the tranquillity of the moonlight, churming an inarticulate melody, he seemed almost apparitional, suggesting dim reminiscences of him who shot the albatros. He was as a mystery in a winding-sheet, crowned with a halo. The influence of the incomprehensible phantasma which hovered about Lord Byron, has been more or less felt by all who ever approached him. That he sometimes came out of the cloud, and was familiar and earthly, is true; but his dwelling was amidst the murk and the mist, and the home of his spirit in the abysm of the storm, and the hiding-places of guilt. He was, at the time of which I am speaking, scarcely two-and- twenty, and could claim no higher praise than having written a clever satire ; and yet it was impossible, even then, to reflect on the bias of his mind, as it was revealed by the casualties of conversation, without experiencing a presentiment, that he was destined to execute some ominous purpose. The description he has given of Manfred in his youth, was of himself. My spirit walk'd not with the souls of men, Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes j 1 The thirst of their ambition was not mine ; The aim of their existence was not mine. My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers, Made me a stranger. Though I wore the form, I had no sympathy with breathing flesh. My joy was in the wilderness — to breathe The difficult air of the iced mountain's top, Where the birds dare not build, nor insect's wing Flit o'er the herbless granite ; or to plunge Into the torrent, and to roll along On the swift whirl of the new-breaking wave Of river, stream, or ocean in their flow — j In these my early strength exulted ; or ^ 62 THE LIFE OF To follow through the night the moving moon,l The stars, and their development ; or catch The dazzling lightnings till my eyes grew dim ; Or to look listening on the scatter'd leaves While autumn winds were at their evening song. These were my pastimes — and to be alone.* For if the beings, of whom I was one — Hating to be so — cross'd me in my path, I felt myself degraded back to them, And was all clay again. LORD BYRON. 63 CHAPTER IX. Dinner at the ambassador's.— Opera. — Disaster of Byron at Malta.— Mrs. Spencer Smith. I shall always remember Cagliari with particular pleasure ; for it so happened that I formed there three of the most agreeable acquaintances of my life, and one of them was with Lord Byron ; for although we had been eight days together, I yet could not previously have accounted myself acquainted with his Lordship. After dinner, we all went to the theatre, which was that evening, on account of some court festival, bril- liantly illuminated. The royal family were present, and the opera was performed with more taste and exe- cution than I had expected to meet with in so remote a place, and under the restrictions which rendered the intercourse with the continent then so difficult. Among other remarkable characters pointed out to us, was a nobleman in the pit, actually under the ban of outlawry for murder. I have often wondered if the incident had any effect on the creation of Lara ; for we know not in what small germs the conceptions of genius originate. But the most important occurrence of that evening arose from a delicate observance of etiquette on the part of the ambassador. After carrying us to his box, k which was close to that of the royal family, in order that we might see the members of it properly, he re- tired with Lord Byron to another box, an inflexion of 64 THE LIFE OF manners to propriety in the best possible taste — for the ambassador was doubtless aware that his Lord- ship's rank would be known to the audience, and I conceive that this little arrangement was adopted to make his person also known, by showing him with distinction apart from the other strangers. When the performance was over, Mr. Hill came down with Lord Byron to the gate of the upper town, where his Lordship, as we were taking leave, thanked him with more elocution than was precisely requisite. The style and formality of the speech amused Mr. Hob- house, as well as others ; and, when the minister re- tired, he began to rally his Lordship on the subject. But Byron really fancied that he had acquitted him- self with grace and dignity, and took the jocularity of his friend amiss — a little banter ensued — the poet became petulant, and Mr. Hobhouse walked on ; while Byron, on account of his lameness, and the rough- ness of the pavement, took hold of my arm, appealing to me, if he could have said less, after the kind and hospitable treatment we had all received. Of course, though I thought pretty much as Mr. Hobhouse did, I could not do otherwise than civilly assent, especially as his Lordship's comfort, at the moment, seemed in some degree dependent on being confirmed in the good opinion he was desirous to entertain of his own courtesy. From that night I evidently rose in his good graces ; and, as he was always most agreeable and interesting when familiar, it was worth my while to advance, but by cautious circumvallations, into his intimacy; for his uncertain temper made his favour precarious. The next morning, either owing to the relaxation of his abstinence,' which he could not probably well avoid amidst the good things of the ambassadorial table ; or, what was, perhaps, less questionable, some regret for his petulance towards his friend, he was in- disposed, and did not make his appearance till late in LORD BYRO^. 65 the evening;. I rather suspect, though there was no evidence of the fact, that Hobhouse received any con- cession which he may have made with indulgence ; for he remarked to me, in a tone that implied both for- bearance and generosity of regard, that it was ne- cessary to humour him like a child. But, in what- ever manner the reconciliation was accomplished, the passengers partook of the blessings of the peace. Byron, during the following day, as we were sailing along the picturesque shores of Sicily, was in the highest spirits ; overflowing with glee, and sparkling with quaint sentences. The champagne was uncorked and in the finest condition. Having landed the mail at Girgenti, we stretched over to Malta, where we arrived about noon next day — all the passengers, except the two friends, being eager to land, went on shore with the captain. They remained behind for a reason — which an accidental expression of Byron let out — much to my secret amuse- ment ; for I was aware they would be disappointed, and the anticipation was relishing. They expected — at least he did — a salute from the batteries, and sent ashore notice to Sir Alexander Ball, the governor, of his arrival ; but the guns were sulky, and evinced no respect of persons ; so that late in the afternoon, about the heel of the evening, the two magnates were obliged to come on shore, and slip into the city unnoticed and unknown. At this time Malta was in great prosperity. Her commerce was flourishing ; and the goodly clusters of its profits hung ripe and rich at every door, i The mer- chants were truly hospitable, and few more so than Mr. Chabot. As I had letters to him he invited me to dinner, along with several other friends pre- viously engaged. In the cool of the evening, as we were sitting at our wine, Lord Byron and Mr. Hob- house were announced. His Lordship was in better spirits than I had ever seen him. His appearance 66 THE LIFE OF showed, as lie entered the room, that they had met with some adventure, and he chuckled with an inward sense of enjoyment, not altogether without spleen — a kind of malicious satisfaction — as his companion recounted .with all becoming gravity their woes and sufferings, as -an apology for begging a bed and morsel for the night. God forgive me ! but I partook of Byron's levity at the idea of personages so consequential wandering des- titute in the streets, seeking for lodgings from door to door, and rejected at all. Next day, however, they were accommodated by the Governor with an agreeable house in the upper part of Valetta ; and his Lordship, as soon as they were domiciled, began to take lessons in Arabic from a monk — I believe one of the librarians of the public library. His whole time was not, however, devoted to study ; for he formed an acquaintance with Mrs. Spencer Smith, the lady of the gentleman of that -name, who had been our resident minister at Constanti- nople : he affected a passion for her ; but it was only Platonic. She, however, beguiled him of his valuable yellow diamond-ring. She is the Florence of Childe Harold, and merited the poetical embalmment, or rather the amber immortalization she possesses there — being herself a heroine. There was no exaggeration in saying that many incidents of her life would appear improbable in fiction. Her adventures with the Mar- quis de Salvo form one of the prettiest romances in the Italian language ; every thing in her destiny was touched with adventure : nor was it the least of her claims to sympathy that she had incurred the special enmity of Napoleon. After remaining about three weeks at Malta, Byron embarked with his friend in a brig of war, appointed to convoy a fleet of small merchantmen to Prevesa. I had, about a fortnight before, passed over with the packet on her return from Messina to Girgenti, and did not fall in with them again till the following spring, LOUD BYHOK". 67 when we met at Athens. In the mean time, besides his Platonic dalliance with Mrs. Spencer Smith, Byron had involved himself in a quarrel with an officer; but it was satisfactorily settled. His residence at Malta did not greatly interest him. The story of its old chivalrous masters made no impression on his imagination ; none that appears in his works ; but it is not the less probable that the remembrance of the place itself occupied a deep niche in his bosom : for I have remarked, that he had a voluntary power of forgetfulness, which, on more than one occasion, struck me as singular : and I am led in consequence to think, that something unpleasant, con- nected with this quarrel, may have been the cause of his suppression of all direct allusion to the island. It was impossible that his imagination could avoid the impulses of the spirit which haunts the walls and ram- parts of Malta ; and the silence of his muse on a topic so rich in romance, and so well calulated to awaken associations concerning the knights, in unison with the ruminations of Childe Harold, persuades me that there must have been some specific cause for the omission. If it were nothing in the duel, I should be inclined to say, notwithstanding the seeming improbability of the notion, that it was owing to some curious modification of vindictive spite. It might not be that Malta should receive no celebrity from his pen ; but assuredly he had met with something there which made him resolute to forget the place. The question as to what it was, he never answered : the result would have thrown light into the labyrinths of his character. f£ 68 THE LIFE OF CHAPTER X. Sails from Malta to Prevesa.— Lands at Patras.— Sails again.— Passea Ithaca. — Arrival at Preyesa. It was on the 19th of September, 1809, that Byron sailed in the Spider brig- from Malta for Prevesa, and on the morning' of the fourth day after, he first saw the mountains of Greece ; next day he landed at Patras, and walked for some time among the currant- grounds between the town and the shore. Around him lay one of the noblest landscapes in the world, and afar in the north-east rose the purple summits of the Gre- cian mountains. Having re-embarked, the Spider proceeded towards her destination ; the Poet not receiving much aug- mentation to his ideas of the grandeur of the ancients from the magnitude of their realms and states. Ithaca, which he doubtless regarded with wonder and disap- pointment, as he passed its cliffy shores, was then in possession of the French. Chilcle Harold sail'd, and pass'd the barren spot, Where sad Penelope o'erlook'd the wave ; And onward view'd the mount, not yet forgot, The lover's refuge, and the Lesbian's grave. But when he saw the evening star above Leucadia's far-projecting rock of woe, And hail'd the last resort of fruitless love, He felt, or deem'd he felt, no common glow j And as the stately vessel glided slow LORD BYROtfa 69 Beneath the shadow of that ancient mount, He watch'd the billows' melancholy flow, And, sunk albeit in thought as he was wont- More placid seem'd his eye, and smooth his pallid front. At seven in the evening, of the same day on which he passed Leucadia, the vessel came to anchor ofFPrevesa. The day was wet and gloomy, and the appearance of the town was little calculated to bespeak cheerfulness. But the novelty in the costume and appearance of the inha- bitants and their dwellings, produced an immediate ef- fectonthe imagination of Byron, and we can trace the vi- vid impression animating and adorning his descriptions. The wild Albanian, kirtled to his knee, With shawl-girt head and ornamented gun, And gold-embroider' d garments, fair to see ; The crimson-scarfed men of Macedon ; The Delhi with his cap of terror on, And crooked glaive ; the lively, supple Greek, And swarthy Nubia's mutilated son ; The bearded Turk, that rarely deigns to speak, Master of all around, too potent to be meek. Having partaken of a consecutive dinner, dish after dish, with the brother of the English consul, the tra- vellers proceeded to visit the governor of the town : he resided within the enclosure of a fort, and they were conducted towards him by a long gallery, open on one side, and through several large unfurnished rooms. In the last of this series, the governor re- ceived them with the wonted solemn civility of the . Turks, and entertained them with pipes and coffee. Neither his appearance, nor the style of the entertain- ment, were distinguished by any display of Ottoman I grandeur ; he was seated on a sofa in the midst of a group of shabby Albanian guards, who had but little reverence for the greatness of the guests, as they sat down beside them, and stared and laughed at their conversation with the governor. Put if the circumstances and aspect of the place 70 THE LIFE OF derived no importance from visible splendour, every object around was enriched with stories and classical recollections. The battle of Actium was fought within the gulf. Ambracia's gnlf behold, where once was lost A world for woman — lovely, harmless thing ! In yonder rippling bay, their naval host Did many a Koman chief and Asian king To doubtful conflict, certain slaughter bring. Look where the second Caesar's trophies rose ! Now, like the lands that rear'd them, withering ; Imperial monarchs doubling human woes ! God ! was thy globe ordain' d for such to win and lose ? Having inspected the ruins of Nicopolis, which are more remarkable for their desultory extent and scat- tered remnants, than for any remains of magnificence or of beauty, Childe Harold pass'd o'er many a mount sublime, Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales, Yet in famed Attica such lovely dales Are rarely seen ; nor can fair Tempe boast A charm they know not ; loved Parnassus fails, Though classic ground and consecrated most, To match some spots that lurk within this lowering coast. In this journey he was still accompanied by Mr. Hobhouse. They had provided themselves with a Greek to serve as a dragoman. With this person they soon became dissatisfied, in consequence of their ge- neral suspicion of Greek integrity, and because of the necessary influence which such an appendage acquires - in the exercise of his office. He is the tongue and purse- bearer of his master ; he' procures him lodging, food, horses, and all conveniences; must support his dignity with the Turks — a difficult task in those days for a Greek — and his manifold trusts demand that he should be not only active and ingenious, but prompt and resolute. In the qualifications of this essential servant, the tra- vellers were not fortunate — he never lost an opportu- LORD BYROIT. 71 nity of pilfering;— he was, however, zealous, bustling, and talkative, and withal good-humoured ; and, having his mind intent on one object — making money — was never lazy nor drunken, negligent nor unprepared. On the 1 st of October they embarked, and sailed up the gulf to Salona, where they were shown into an empty barrack for lodgings. In this habitation twelve Albanian soldiers and an officer were quartered, who behaved towards them with civility. On their entrance, the officer gave them pipes and coffee, and after they had dined in their own apartment, he in* vited them to spend the evening with him, and they condescended to partake of his hospitality. Such incidents as these in ordinary biography would be without interest ; but when it is considered how firmly the impression of them was retained in the mind of the Poet, and how intimately they entered into the substance of his reminiscences of Greece, they acquire dignity, and become epochal in the history of the de- velopment of his intellectual powers. " All the Albanians," says Mr. Hobhouse, to whose travels I have freely applied, " strut very much when they walk, projecting their chests, throwing back their heads, and moving very slowly from side to side. Elmas (as the officer was called) had this strut more than any man perhaps we saw afterwards % and as the sight was then quite new to us, we could not help staring at the magisterial and superlatively dignified air of a man with great holes in his elbows, and looking altogether, as to his garment, like what we call a bull-beggar." Mr. Hobhouse describes him as a captain, but by the number of men under him,' he could have been of no higher rank than a Serjeant. • — Captains are centurions. After supper, the officer washed his hands with soap, inviting the travellers to do the same, for they had eaten a little with him ; he did not, however, give the soap, but put it on the floor with an air so remark- 72 THE LIFE OF able, as to induce Mr. Hobhouse to inquire the mean- ing of it, and he was informed that there is a super- stition in Turkey against giving soap : it is thought it will wash away love. Next day it rained, and the travellers were obliged to remain under shelter. The evening was again spent with the soldiers, who did their utmost to amuse them with Greek and Albanian songs and freaks of jocularity. In the morning of the 3d of October they set out for Arta, with ten horses ; four for themselves and ser- vants, four for their luggage, and two for two soldiers vhom they were induced to take with them as guards. Byron takes no notice of his visit to Arta in Childe Harold ; but Mr. Hobhouse has given a minute ac- count of the towm They met there with nothing re- markable. ' The remainder of the journey to Joannina, the capital then of the famous Ali Pashaw, was rendered unpleasant by the wetness of the weather ; still it was impossible to pass through a country so picturesque in its feature, and rendered romantic by the traditions of robberies and conflicts, without receiving impressions of that kind of imagery which constitutes the embroidery on the vestment of poetry. The first view of Joannina seen in the morning light, or glittering in the setting sun, is lively and alluring. The houses, domes, and minarets, shining through gardens of orange and lemon trees, and groves of cy- presses ; the lake spreading its broad mirror at the foot of the town, and the mountains rising abrupt around, all combined to present a landscape new and beautiful. Indeed where may be its parallel? the lake was the Acherusian, Mount Pindus was in sight, and the Elysian fields of mythology spread in the lovely plains over which they passed in approaching the town. On entering Joannina, they were appalled by a spec- tacle characteristic of the country. Opposite a butcher's LORD BYRON. 73 shop, they beheld hanging from the boughs of a tree a man's arm, with part of the side torn from the body. — How long is it since Temple-bar, in the very heart of London, was adorned with the skulls of the Scottish noblemen who were beheaded for their loyalty to the son and representative of their ancient kings ! The object of the visit to Joannina was to see Ali Pashaw, in those days the most celebrated vizier in all the western provinces of the Ottoman empire ; but he was then at Tepellene. The luxury of resting, how- ever, in a capital, was not to be resisted, and they accordingly suspended their journey until they had satisfied their curiosity with an inspection of every object which merited attention. Of Joannina, it may be said they were almost the discoverers, so little was known of it in England — I may say in Western Europe — previous to their visit. The palace and establishment of Ali Pashaw were of regal splendour, combining with oriental pomp the ele- gance of the Occident, and the travellers were treated by the vizier's officers with all the courtesy due to the rank of Lord Byron, and every facility was afforded them to prosecute their journey. The weather, how- ever — the season being far advanced — was wet and unsettled, and they suffered more fatigue and annoy- ance than travellers for information or pleasure should have had to encounter. The journey from Joannina to Zitza is among the happiest sketches in the pilgrimage of Childe Harold, He pass'd bleak Pindus, Acherusia's lake, And left the primal city of the land, And onwards did his further journey take To greet Albania's chief, whose dread command Is lawless law ; for with a bloody hand He sways a nation, turbulent and bold : Yet here and there some daring mountain-band Disdain his power, and from their rocky hold Hurl their defiance far, nor yield unless to gold. 74 THE LIFE OF Monastic Zitza ! from thy shady brow, Thou small, but favour'd spot of holy ground ! Where'er Ave gaze, above, around, below, What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found i" Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound ; And bluest skies that harmonize the Avhole. Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound, Tells where the volumed cataract doth roll Between those hanging rocks that shock yet please the soul. In the course of this journey the Poet happened to be alone with his guides when they lost their way during a tremendous thunderstorm, and he has com- memorated the circumstance in the spirited stanzas be- ginning — Chill and mirk is the nightly blast. LORD BYRON, 75 CHAPTER XX Halt at Zitza.— The "river Acheron.— Greek wine.— A Greek chariot.— Arrival at Tepellene.— The vizier's palace. The travellers, on their arrival at Zitza, went to the monastery to solicit accommodation, and after some parley with one of the monks, through a small grating in a door plated with iron, on which marks of violence were visible, and which, before the country had been tranquillized under the vigorous dominion of AliPashaw, had been frequently battered in vain by the robbers who then infested the neighbourhood. The prior, a meek and lowly man, entertained them in a warm chamber with grapes and a pleasant white wine, not trodden out by the feet, as he informed them, but expressed by the hand. To this gentle and kind host Byron alludes in his description of " Monastic Zitza." Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hill, Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh Rising in lofty ranks, and loftier still, Might well itself be deem'd of dignity ; The convent's white walls glisten fair on high : Here dwells the caloyer, nor rude is he, Nor niggard of his cheer ; the passer by Is welcome still ; nor heedless will be flee From hence, if he delight kind Nature's sheen to see. Having halted a night at Zitza, the travellers pro- ceeded on their journey next morning, by a road which led through the vineyards around the villages, and 76 THE LIFE OF the view from a barren hill, which they were obliged to cross, is described with some of the most forcible touches of the Poet's pencil. Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight, Nature's volcanic amphitheatre, Chimera's Alps, extend from left to right : Beneath, a living valley seems to stir. Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain fir Nodding above : behold black Acheron 1 Once consecrated to the sepulchre. Pluto \ if this be hell I look upon, Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall seek for none ! The Acheron, which they crossed in this route, is now called the Kalamas, a considerable stream, as large as the Avon at Bath ; but towards the evening they had some cause to think the Acheron had not lost all its original horror, for a dreadful thunderstorm came on accompanied with deluges of rain, which more than once nearly carried away their luggage and horses. Byron himself does not notice this incident in Childe Harold, nor even the adventure more terrific which he met with alone in similar circumstances on the night before their arrival at Zitza, when his guides lost their way in the defiles of the mountains — adventures suffi- ciently disagreeable in the advent, but full of poesy in the remembrance. The first halt, after leaving Zitza, was at the little village of Mosure, where they were lodged in a misera- ble cabin, the residence of a poor priest, who treated them with all the kindness his humble means afforded . From this place they proceeded next morning through a wild and savage country, interspersed with vineyards, to Delvinaki, where it would seem they first met with genuine Greek wine, that is, wine mixed with resin and lime ; a more odious draught at the first taste than any drug the apothecary mixes. Considering how much of allegory entered into the composition of the Greek mythology, it is probable that LORD EYROX. 77 in representing the infant Bacchus holding a pine, the ancient sculptors intended an impersonation of the circumstance of resin being employed to preserve new wine. The travellers were now in Albania, the native region Of AH Pashaw, whom they expected to find atLibokavo ; but on entering the town, they were informed that he was farther up the country at Tepellene, or Tepalen, his native place. In their route from Libokavo to Tepa- len they met with no adventure, nor did they visit Argyro-castro, which they saw some nine or ten miles off — a large city, supposed to contain about twenty thousand inhabitants, chiefly Turks. When they reached Cezarades, a distance of not more than nine miles, which had taken them five hours to travel, they were agreeably accommodated for the' night in a neat cottage; and the Albanian landlord, in whose demeanour they could discern none of that cringing downcast sinister look which marked the degraded Greek, received them with a hearty welcome. Next morning they resumed their journey, and halted one night more before they reached Tepellene, in approaching which they met a carriage, not inelegantly constructed after the German fashion, with a man on the box driving four-in-hand, and two Albanian soldiers standing on the footboardbehind. They were floundering on at a trot through mud and mire, boldly regardless of danger ; but it seemed to the English eyes of the travel- lers impossible that such a vehicle should ever be able to reach Libokavo, to which it was bound. In due time they crossed the river Laos, or Voioutza, which was then full and appeared both to Byron and his friend as broad as the Thames at Westminster ; after crossing it on a stone bridge, they came in sight of Tepellene, when The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit, And Laos, wide and fierce, came roaring by ; The shades of wonted night were gathering yet, When down the steep banks, winding warily, 78 THE LIFE OF Childe Harold saw, like meteors in the sky, The glittering- minarets of Tepalen, Whose walls o'erlook the stream ; and, drawing nigh, He heard the husy hum of warrior-men Swelling the breeze that sigh'd along the lengthening glen. On their arrival they proceeded at once to the residence of Ali Pashaw, an extensive rude pile, where they witnessed a scene, not dissimilar to that which they might, perhaps, have beheld some hundred years ago in the castle-yard of a great feudal baron. Sol- diers, with their arms piled against the wall, were assembled in different parts of the court, several horses, completely caparisoned, were led about, others were neighing under the hands of the grooms ; and for the feast of the night, armed cooks were busy dressing kids and sheep. The scene is described with the Poet's liveliest pencil. Richly caparison'd, a ready row Of armed horse, and many a warlike store, Circled the wide extending court below ; Above, strange groups adorn'd the corridor ; And, oftimes through the areas echoing door, Some high-capp'd Tartar spurr'd his steed away. The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor, Here mingled in their many-hued array, "While the deep war-drum's sound announced the close of day. Some recline in groups, Scanning the motley scene that varies round. There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops And some that smoke, and some that play, are found. Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground. • Half whispering, there the Greek is heard to prate. Hark ! from the mosque the nightly solemn sound ; The Muezzin's call doth shake the minaret. ** There is no god but God ! — to prayer — lo, God is great !" The remarkable quietness and ease with which the Mahommedans say their prayers, struck the travel- lers as one of the most peculiar characteristics which they had yet witnessed of that people. Some of the LOUD BYttOtf. 79 graver sort began their devotions in the places where they were sitting, undisturbed and unnoticed by those around them who were otherwise employed. — The prayers last about ten minutes ; they are not uttered aloud, but generally in a low voice, sometimes with only a motion of the lips; and, whether performed in the public street or in a room, attract no attention from the bystanders. Of more than a hundred of the guards in the gallery of the vizier's mansion at Tepellene, not more than five or six were seen at prayers. The Albanians are not reckoned strict Mahommedans ; but no Turk, however irreligious himself, ever disturbs the devotion of others. It was then the fast of Ramazan, and the tra- vellers, during the night, were annoyed with the per- petual noise of the carousal kept up in the gallery ; and by the drum, and the occasional voice of the Muezzin. Just at tliis season Ramazani's fast, Through the long day its penance did maintain : ' But when the lingering twilight hour was past, Revel and feast assumed the rule again. Now all was bustle, and the menial train Prepared and spread the plenteous board within ; The vacant gallery now seem'd made in vain, But from the chambers came the mingling din, And page and slave anon were passing out and in. 80 THE LIFE OF CHAPTER XII. Audience appointed with Ali Pashaw.— Description of the Vizier' a per- son.— An audience of the Vizier of the Morea. The progress of no other poet's mind can be so clearly traced to personal experience, as that of Byron's. The minute details in the pilgrimage of Childe Harold, are the observations of an actual tra- veller. Had they been given in prose, they could not have been less imbued with fiction. From this fidelity they possess a value equal to the excellence of the poetry, and ensure for themselves an interest as lasting as it is intense. When the manners and customs of the inhabitants shall have been changed by time and the vicissitudes of society, the scenery, and the moun- tains will bear testimony to the accuracy of Lord Byron's descriptions. The day after the travellers' arrival at Tepellene was fixed by the vizier for their first audience ; and about noon, the time appointed, an officer of the palace with a white wand announced to them that his High- ness was ready to receive them, and accordingly they proceeded from their own apartment accompanied by the secretary of the vizier, and attended by their own dragoman. The usher of the white rod led the way, and conducted them through a suite of meanly-fur- nished apartments to the presence-chamber. Ali when they entered was standing, a courtesy of marked distinction from a Turk. As they advanced towards him, he seated himself, and requested them to sit near LORD BYRON". 81 him. The room was spacious and handsomely fitted up, surrounded by that species of continued sofa which the upholsterers call a divan, covered with richly-embroidered velvet : in the middle of the floor was a large marble bas. ; n, in which a fountain was playing. In marble- paved pavilion, where a spring Of living water from the centre rose, Whose bubbling did a genial freshness fling, And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose, Ali reclined ; a man of war and woes. Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace, While Gentleness her milder radiance throws Along that aged venerable face, The deeds that lurk beneath and stain him with disgrace. It is not that yon hoary lengthening beard 111 suits the passions that belong to youth ; Love conquers age — so Hafiz hath averr'd : So sings the Teian and he sings in sooth — But crimes that scorn the tender voice of Ruth, Beseeming all men ill, but most the man In years, have mark'd him with a tiger's tooth ; Blood follows blood, and through their mortal span, In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began. When this was written Ali Pashaw was still living j but the prediction which it implies, was soon after .verified, and he closed his stern and energetic life with a catastrophe worthy of its guilt and bravery. Mr. Hobhouse describes him at this audience as a short fat man, about five feet five inches in height ; i with a very pleasing face, fair and round ; and blue ! fair eyes, not settled into a Turkish gravity. His beard was long and hoary, and such a one as any other Turk would have been proud of ; nevertheless, he, who was more occupied in attending to his guests than him- self, neither gazed at it, smelt it, nor stroked it, ac- cording to the custom of his countrymen, when they L seek to fill up the pauses in conversation. He was not cfressed with the usual magnificence of dignitaries of £( MANFRED. Ye mock me, but the power which brought ye here Hath made you mine. Slaves ! scoff not at my will ; The mind, the spirit, the Promethean spark, The lightning of my being is as bright, Pervading and far darting as your own, And shall not yield to yours tho' cooped in clay. Answer, or I will teach you what I am. SPIRIT. We answer as we answered. Our reply, Is even in thine own words. MANFRED. Why say ye so ? SPIRIT. If, as thou say'st, thine essence be as ours, We have replied in telling thee the thing Mortals call death, hath nought to do with us. MANFRED. I then have call'd you from your realms in vain. This impressive and original scene prepares the 214 THE LIFE OF reader to wonder why it is that Manfred is so desir- ous to drink of Lethe. He has acquired dominion over spirits, and he finds, in the possession of the power, that knowledge has only brought him sorrow. They tell him he is immortal, and what he suffers is as inextinguishable as his own being : why should he desire forgetfulness ?— Has he not committed a great secret sin ? What is it ? — He alludes to his sister, and in his subsequent interview with the witch we gather a dreadful meaning concerning her fate. Her blood has been shed, not by his hand nor in punish- ment, but in the shadow and occupations of some unut- terable crime and mystery. She was like me in lineaments ; her eyes, Her hair, her features, all to the very tone Even of her voice, they said were like to mine, But soften'd all, and temper'd into beauty. She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings, The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind To comprehend the universe ; nor these Alone, but with them gentler powers than mine, Pity, and smiles, and tears, which I had not ; And tenderness — but that I had for her; Humility, and that I never had: Her faults were mine — her virtues were her own ; I loved her and — destroy 'd her WITCH. With thy hand ? ' MANFRED. Not with my hand, but heart, which broke her heart. It gazed on mine, and wither' d. I have shed Blood, but not hers, and yet her blood was shed ; — I saw, and could not staunch it. There is in this little scene, perhaps, the deepest pathos ever expressed ; but it is not of its beauty that I am treating ; my object in noticing it here is, that it may be considered in connexion with that where Manfred appears with his insatiate thirst of knowledge, and manacled with guilt. It indicates that his sister, Astarte, "had been self-sacrificed in the pursuit of their magical knowledge. Human sacrifices were supposed to be among the "initiate propitiations of the demons that have their purposes in magic — as well as com- pacts signed with the bloocl of the self-sold. There was also a dark Egyptian art, of which the knowledge and the efficacy could only be obtained by the no- vitiate's procuring a voluntary victim — the dearest ob- ject to himself, and to whom he also was the dearest ;* and the primary spring of Byron's tragedy lies, I con- ceive, in a sacrifice of that kind having been performed, without obtaining that happiness which the votary ex- pected would be found in the knowledge and power purchased at such a price. His sister was sacrificed in vain. The manner of the sacrifice is not divulged, but it is darkly intimated to have been done amidst the perturbations of something horrible. * The sacrifice of Antinous by the emperor Adrian is supposed to have been a sacrifice of that kind. Dion Cassius says that Adrian, who had applied himself to the study of magic, being deceived by the principles of that black Egyptian art into a belief that he would be rendered immortal by a voluntary human sacrifice to the infernal gods, accepted the offer which Antinous made of himself. I have somewhere met with a commentary on this to the fol- lowing effect : The Christian religion, in the time of Adrian, was rapidly spreading throughout the empire, and the doctrine of gaining eternal life by the expiatory offering was openly preached. The Egyptian priests who pretended to be in possession of all know- ledge, affected to be acquainted with this mystery also. The emperor was, by his taste and his vices, attached to the old religion ; but he trembled at the truths disclosed by the revela- tion ; and in this state of apprehension his thirst of knowledge and his fears led him to consult the priests of Osiris and Isis ; and they impressed him with a notion that the infernal deities would be appeased by the sacrifice of a human being dear to him, and who loved him so entirely as to lay down his life for him. Antinous moved by the anxiety of his imperial master, when all others had refused, consented to sacrifice himself; and it was for this devotion that Adrian caused his memory to be hallowed with religious rites. 216 THE LIFE OF Night after night for years He hath pursued long vigils in this tower Without a witness. — I have heen within it — So have Ave all heen oft times : but from it, Or its contents, it were impossible To draw conclusions absolute of aught Kis studies tend to. — To be sure there is One chamber where none enter — * * * Count Manfred was, as now, within his tower : How occupied — we know not — but with him, The sole companion of his wanderings And watchings — her — whom of all earthly things That lived, the only thing he seem'd to love With admirable taste, and in thrilling augmentation of the horror, the poet leaves the deed which was done in that unapproachable chamber undivulged, while we are darkly taught, that within it lie the relics or the ashes of the " one without a tomb." LORD BYRON. 21* CHAPTER XXXIII. State of Byron in Switzerland — He goes to Venice.— The fourth canto of Childe Harold. — Rumination on his own condition. — Beppo. — Lament of Tasso. — Curious example of Byron's metaphysical love. The situation of Lord Byron in Switzerland was comfortless. He found that " the mountain palaces of Nature " afforded no asylum to a haunted heart: he was ill at ease with himself, even dissatisfied that the world had not done him enough of wrong to justify his misanthropy. Some expectation that his lady would repent of her part in the separation probably induced him to linger in the vicinity of Geneva, the thoroughfare of the tra- velling English, whom he affected to shun. If it were so, he was disappointed, and, his hopes being frustrated, he broke up the establishment he had formed there and crossed the Alps. After visiting some of the celebrated scenes and places in the north of Italy he passed on to Venice, where he domiciled himself for a time. During his residence at Venice Lord Byron avoided as much as possible any intercourse with his country- men. This was perhaps in some degree necessary, and it was natural in the state of his mind. He had become an object of great public interest by his talents; the stories connected with his domestic troubles had also increased his notoriety, and in such circumstances he could not but shrink from the inquisition of mere curiosity. But there was an insolence in the tone with 218 THE LIFE OF which he declares his " utter abhorrence of any con- tact with the travelling English," that can neither be commended for its spirit, nor palliated by any treat- ment he had suffered. Like Coriolanus he may have banished his country, but he had not, like the Roman, received provocation: on the contrary, he had been the aggressor in the feuds with his literary adversaries; and there was a serious accusation against his morals, or at least his manners, in the circumstances under which Lady Byron withdrew from his house. It was, however, his misfortune throughout life to form a wrong estimate of himself in every thing save in his poetical powers. A life in Venice is more monotonous than in any other great city ; but a man of genius carries every where a charm, which secures to him both variety and enjoyment. Lord Byron had scarcely taken up his abode in Venice, when he began the fourth canto of Childe Harold, which he published early in the following year, and dedicated to his indefatigable friend Mr. Hobhouse by an epistle dated on the an- niversary of his marriage, " the most unfortunate day,'* as he says, " of his past existence." In this canto he has indulged his excursive mo- ralizing beyond even the wide licence he took in the three, preceding parts ; but it bears the impression of more reading and observation. Though not superior in poetical energy, it is yet a higher work than any of them, and something of a more resolved and mas- culine spirit pervades the reflections, and endows, as it were with thought and enthusiasm, the aspect of the things described. Of the merits of the descriptions, as of real things, I am not qualified to judge: the trans- cripts from the tablets of the author's bosom, he has himself assured us are faithful. "With regard to the conduct of the last canto, there will be found less of the pilgrim than in any of the preceding, and that little slightly, if at all, sepa- LORD BYROtf. 219 rated from the author speaking in his own person. The fact is, that I had become weary of drawing a line, which every one seemed determined not to per- ceive : like the Chinese, in Goldsmith's " Citizen of the World/ whom nobody would believe to be a Chinese, it was in vain that I asserted and imagined that I had drawn a distinction between the author and the pilgrim ; and the very anxiety to preserve this dif- ference, and the disappointment at finding it unavail- ing, so far crushed my efforts in the composition, that I determined to abandon italtogether — andhavedone so." This confession, though it may not have been wanted, gives a pathetic emphasis to those passages in which the poet speaks of his own feelings. That his mind was jarred, and out of joint, there is too much reason to believe ; but he had in some measure overcome the misery that clung to him during the dismal time of his sojourn in Switzerland, and the following passage, though breathing the sweet and melancholy spirit of dejection, possesses a more ge- nerous vein of nationality than is often met with in his works, even when the same proud sentiment might have been more fitly expressed : I've taught me other tongues : — and in strange eyes Have made me not a stranger ; to the mind j Which is itself no changes bring surprise, Nor is it harsh to make or hard to find A country with — ay, or without mankind. : Yet was I horn where men are proud to he, Not without cause ; and should I leave behind TV inviolate island of the sage and free, . And seek me out a home by a remoter sea ? Perhaps I loved it well : and should I lay My ashes in a soil which is not mine, My spirit shall resume it — if we may, Unbodied, choose a sanctuary. I twine My hopes of being remember'd in my line, With my land's language : if too fond and far These aspirations in their hope incline — If my fame should be as my fortunes are, Of hasty growth and blight, and dull oblivion bar 220 THE life or My name from out the temple where the dead Are honour'd by the nations — let it be, And light the laurels on a loftier head, And be the Spartan's epitaph on me ; " Sparta had many a worthier son than he ;" Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need ; The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted — they have torn me — and I bleed : I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. It will strike the reader as remarkable, that although the poet, in the course of this canto, takes occasion to allude to Dante and Tasso, in whose destinies there was a shadowy likeness of his own, the rumination is mingled with less of himself than might have been expected, especially when it is considered how much it was a habit with him, to make his own feelings the basis and substratum of the sentiments he ascribed to others. It has also more than once surprised me that he has so seldom alluded to Alfieri, whom of all poets, both in character and conduct, he most resembled ; with this difference, however, that Alfieri was possessed of affections equally intense and durable, whereas the caprice of Byron made him uncertain in his par- tialities, or what was the same in effect, made his friends set less value on them than perhaps they were entitled to. Before Childe Harold was finished, an incident oc- curred which suggested to Byron a poem of a very dif- ferent kind to any he had yet attempted : — without vouching for the exact truth of the anecdote, I have been told, that he one day received by the mail a copy of Whistlecraft's prospectus and specimen of an in- tended national work ; and, moved by its playfulness, immediately after reading it, began Beppo, which he finished at a sitting. The facility with which he com- posed renders the story not improbable ; but, singular as it may seem, the poem itself has the facetious fla- vour in it of his gaiety, stronger than even his grave works have of his frowardness, commonlv believed tc LORD BYROX, 221 have been — I think, unjustly — the predominant mood of his character. The Ode to Venice is also to be numbered among; his compositions in that city ; a spirited and indignant effusion, full of his peculiar lurid fire, and rich in a variety of impressive and original images. But there is a still finer poem which belongs to this period of his history, though written, I believe, before he reached Venice— -The Lament of Tasso : and I am led to no- tice it the more particularly, as one of its noblest pas- sages affords an illustration of the opinion which I have early maintained — that Lord Byron's extraordinary pretensions to the influence of love was but a metaphy- sical conception of the passion. It is no marvel — from my very birth My soul was drunk with love, Avhich did pervade And mingle with whate'er I saw on earth ; ; Of objects all inanimate I made Idols, and out of wild and lovely flowers And rocks whereby they grew, a paradise, Where I did lay me down within the shade Of waving trees and dream'd uncounted hours. It has been remarked by an anonymous author of Memoirs of Lord Byron, a work written with con- siderable talent and acumen, that "'this is so far from being in character, that it is the very reverse ; for whe- ther Tasso was in his senses or not, if his love was sincere, he would have made the object of his affection the sole theme of his meditation, instead of general- izing his passion, and talking about the original sym- pathies of his nature." In truth, no poet has better described love than Byron has his own peculiar passion. His love was passion's essence — as a tree On fire by lightning ; with etherial flame Kindled he was, and blasted ; for to be Thus enainour'd were in him the same. But his was not the love of living dame, Nor of the dead Avho rise upon our dreams, But of ideal beauty which became In him existence, and o'erflowing teems Along his burning page, distempered though it seems. ' 222 THE LIFE OF In tracing the course of Lord Byron's career, I have not deemed it at all necessary to advert to the in- stances of his generosity, or to conduct less pleasant to record. Enough has appeared to show that he was neither deficient in warmth of heart nor in less amia- ble feelings ; but, upon the whole, it is not probable that either in his charities or his pleasures he was greatly different from other young men, though he un- doubtedly had a wayward delight in magnifying his excesses, not in what was to his credit, like most men, but in what was calculated to do him no honour. More notoriety has been given to an instance of la- vish liberality at Venice, than the case deserved, though it was unquestionably prompted by a charit- able impulse. The house of a shoemaker, near his Lordship's residence, in St. Samuel, was burnt to the ground, with all it contained, by which the pro- prietor was reduced to indigence. Byron not only caused a new but a superior house to be erected, and also presented the sufferer with a sum of money equal in value to the whole of his stock in trade and fur- niture. I should endanger my reputation for impar- tiality if I did not, as a fair set-off to this, also men- tion that it is said he bought for five hundred crowns a baker's wife. There might be charity in this, too. LORD BYRON. 223 CHAPTER XXXIV, Removes to Ravenna.— The Countess Guiccioli. Although Lord Byron resided between two and three years at Venice, he was never much attached to it. " To see a city die daily, as she does," said he, " is a. sad contemplation. I sought to distract my mind from a sense of her desolation and my own solitude, by plunging into a vortex that was any thing but plea- sure. When one gets into a mill-stream, it is difficult to swim against it, and keep out of the wheels." He became tired and disgusted with the life he led at Ve- nice, and was glad to turn his back on it. About the close of the year 1819 he accordingly removed to Ravenna ; but before I proceed to speak of the works which he composed at Ravenna, it is necessary to ex- plain some particulars respecting a personal affair, the influence of which on at least one of his productions, is as striking as any of the many instances already described upon others. I allude to the intimacy which he formed with the young Countess Guiccioli. This lady, at the age of sixteen, was married to the Count, one of the richest noblemen in Romagna, but far advanced in life. " From the first," said Lord Byron, to Captain Medwin, " they had separate apartments, and she always called him, Sir! What could be expected from such a preposterous con- nexion. For some time she was an Angiolina and he a Marino Faliero, a good old man ; but young Italian women are not satisfied with good old men, and the venerable Count did not object to her availing herselt of the privileges of her country in selecting a cicisbeo; 224 THE LIFE OF an Italian would have made it quite agreeable : indeed, for some time he winked at our intimacy, but at length made an exception against me, as a foreigner, a heretic, an Englishman, and what was worse than all, a liberal. " He insisted — Teresa was as obstinate — her family took her part. Catholics cannot get divorces; but to the scandal of all Romagna, the matter was at last referred to the pope, who ordered her a separate maintenance on condition that she should reside under her father's roof. All this was not agreeable, and at length I was forced to smuggle her out of Ra- venna, having discovered a plot laid with the sanction of the legate, for shutting her up in a convent for life." The Countess Guiccioli was at this time about twenty, but she appeared younger; her complexion was fair, with large, dark, languishing eyes; and her auburn hair fell in great profusion of natural ringlets over her shapely shoulders. Her features were not so regular as in their expression pleasing, and there was an amiable gentleness in her voice which was pecu- liarly interesting. Leigh Hunt's account of her is not essentially dissimilar from any other that I have either heard of or met with. He differs, however, in one respect, from every other, in saying that her hair was yellow ; but considering the curiosity which this young lady has excited, perhaps it may be as well to tran- scribe his description at length, especially as he ap- pears to have taken some pains on it, and more par- ticularly as her destiny seems at present to promise that the interest for her is likely to be revived by another unhappy English connexion.* " Her appearance," says Mr. Hunt, " might have reminded an English spectator of Chaucer's heroine ; ? Yclotbed was she, fresh for to devise, Her yellow hair was braided in a tress Behind her back, a yarde long I guess, * It is said she lately was contracted to be married to'fan English nobleman, that he came home to make arrangements, and fell in love with another whom he married in England. : i! E c ( - 1 U NTi; S S GUJ CCIOJ,]. 'tblished. by ffisnry Colbunv &Rifyarel,£mdes > 1830 LORD BYRON - . 225 And in the garden (as the same uprist) She walketh up and down, where as her list. ', And then as Dryden has it : At every turn she made a little stand And thrust among the thorns her lily hand. Madame Guiccioli, who was at that time about twenty, was handsome and ladylike, with an agreeable man- ner, and a voice not partaking too much of the Italian fervour, to be gentle. She had just enough of it to give her speaking a grace— none of her graces ap- peared entirely free from art ; nor, on the other hand, did they betray enough of it to give you an ill opinion of her sincerity and good humour** *. Her hair was what* the poet has described, or rather blond, with an inclination to yellow ; a very fair and delicate yellow, at all events, and within the limits of the poetical. She had regular features of the order properly called handsome, in distinction to prettiness or piquancy; being well proportioned to one another, large, rather than otherwise, but without coarseness, and more har- monious than interesting. Her nose was the hand- somest of the kind I ever saw ; and I have known her both smile very sweetly, and look intelligently, when Lord Byron has said something kind to her. I should not say, however, that she was a very intelligent person. Both her wisdom and her want of wisdom were on the side of her feelings, in which there was doubtless mingled a good deal of the self-love natural to a flat- tered beauty.* * * * In a word, Madame Guiccioli was a kind of buxom parlour-boarder, compressing herself artificially into dignity and elegance, and fancying she walked, in the eyes of the whole world, a heroine by the side of a poet. When I saw her at Monte Nero, near Leghorn, she was in a state of excitement and exulta- tion, and had really something of this look. At that time, also, she looked no older than she was ; in which respect 3 a rapid and very singular change took place, Q 226 THE LIFE OF to the surprise of every body. In the course of a few months she seemed to have lived as many years." This is not very perspicuous portraiture, nor does it show that Mr. Hunt was a very discerning observer of character. Lord Byron himself is represented to have said, that extraordinary pains were taken with her education : " Her conversation is lively without being frivolous ; without being learned, she has read all the best authors of her own and the French lan- guage. She often conceals what she knows, from the fear of being thought to know too much ; possibly be- cause she knows I am not fond of blues. To use an expression of Jeffrey's, ' If she has blue stockings, she contrives that her petticoats shall hide them.' " Lord Byron was at one time much attached to her ; nor could it be doubted that their affection w T as recipro- cal ; but in both, their union outlived their affection, for before his departure to Greece his attachment had perished, and he left her, as it is said, notwithstand- ing the rank and opulence she had forsaken on his ac- count, without any provision. He had promised, it was reported, when he went to Greece, to leave two thousand pounds for her till she could join him, but she refused, as Mr. Hobhouse assures me, to accept a pecuniary favour for her attachment. On her part, the estrangement was of a different and curious kind r — she had not come to hate him, but she told a lady, the friend of a mutual acquaintance of Lord Byron and mine, that she feared more than loved him.* * Mr. Hobhouse has assured me that the story of her po- verty is not true, hut my informant persists in his tale. Mr. H. speaks of a provision made for her, in consequence of a law process before the death of Lord Byron. My friend says it was so, but that Mr. Hobhouse is not correct. He only alludes to one settlement by her husband, but it seems there were two. The first was very small. After the departure of Lord Byron, she returned to her old husband, whom she persuaded, or who was obliged, to make a second settlement on her ; but though in comfort she is still far from being affluent. _, LORD BYROX. 227 CHAPTER XXXV, Residence in Ravenna.— The Carbonari.— Byron's part in their plot.— Tho murder of the military commandant. — The poetical use of the incident. — Marino Faliero.— Reflections.— The prophecy of Dante. Lord Byron has said himself, that except Greece, he was never so attached to any place in his life as to Ravenna. The peasantry he thought the best people in the world, and their women the moist beautiful. " Those at Tivoli and Frescati," said he, " are mere Sabines, coarse creatures, compared to theRomagnese. You may talk of your English women ; and it is true, that out of one hundred Italian and English you will find thirty of the latter handsome ; but then there will be one Italian on the other side of the scale,. who will more than balance the deficit in numbers — one who, like the Florence Venus, has no rival, and can have none in the north. I found also at Ravenna much education and liberality of thinking among the higher classes. The climate is delightful. I was not broken in upon by society. Ravenna lies out of the way of travellers. I was never tired of my rides in the pine-forest : it breathes of the Decameron ; it is poetical ground. Francesca lived and Dante was exiled and died at Ravenna. There is something in- spiring in such an air. " The people liked me as much as they hated the government. It is not a little to say, I was popular with all the leaders of the constitutional party. They knew that I came from a land of liberty, and wished well to their cause. I would have espoused it too, and 228 THE LIFE OF assisted them to shake off their fetters. They knew my character, for I had been living two years at Venice, where many of the Ravennese have houses. I did not, however, take part in their intrigues, nor join in their political coteries; but I had arms in the house, when every thing was ripe for revolt — a curse on Carignan's imbecility ! I could have pardoned him that, too, if he had not impeached his partisans. The proscription was immense in Romagna, and embraced many of the first nobles : almost all my friends, were included in it. They were exiled, and their possessions confiscated. They knew that this must eventually drive me out of the country. I did not follow them immediately : I was not to be bullied — I had myself fallen under the eye of the government. If they could have got sufficient proof they would have arrested me." The latter part of this declaration bears, in my opinion, indubitable marks of being genuine. It has that magnifying mysticism about it which more than any other quality characterized Lord Byron's intima- tions concerning himself and his own affairs ; but it is a little clearer than I should have expected in the ac- knowledgment of the part he was preparing to take in the insurrection. He does not seem here to be sen- sible, that in confessing so much, he has justified the jealousy with which he was regarded. " Shortly after the plot was discovered," he pro- ceeds to say, " I received several anonymous letters, advising me to discontinue my forest rides ; but I en- tertained no apprehensions of treachery, and was more on horseback than ever. I never stir out without be- ing well armed, nor sleep without pistols. They knew that I never missed my aim ; perhaps this saved me." An event occurred at this time at Ravenna that made a deep impression on Lord Byron. The com- mandant of the place was assassinated opposite to his residence. LORD BYRONY 229 It was from the murder of this commandant that the poet sketched the scene of the assassination in the fifth canto of Don Juan. The other evening ('twas on Friday last), This is a fact, and no poetic fable — Just as my great coat was about me cast, My hat and gloves still lying on the table, I heard a shot — 'twas eight o'clock scarce past, And running out as fast as I was able, I found the military commandant Stretch'd in the street, and able scarce to pant. Poor fellow ! for some reason, surely bad, They had him slain with five slugs, and left him there To perish on the pavement : so I had Him borne into the house, and up the stair ; The man was gone : in some Italian quarrel Kill'd by five bullets from an old gun-barrel. The scars of his eld wounds were near his new, Those honourable scars which bought him fame, And horrid was the contrast to the view — But let me quit the theme, as such things claim a Perhaps ev'n more attention than is due From me : I gazed (as oft I've gazed the same) To try if I could wrench aught out of death Which should confirm, or shake, or make a faith. Whether Marino Faliero was written at Ravenna or completed there, I have not ascertained, but it was planned at Venice, and as far back as 1817. I be- lieve this is considered about the most ordinary per- formance of all Lord Byron's works ; but if it is con- sidered with reference to the time in which it was written, it will probably be found to contain many impressive passages. Has not the latter part of the second scene in the first act, reference to the con- dition of Venice when his Lordship was there ? And is not the description which Israel Bertuccio gives of the conspirators applicable to, as it was probably de- rived from the Carbonari, with whom there is reason to say Byron was himself disposed to take a part ? 230 THE LIFE OP Know then, that there are met and sworn in secret A hand of hrethren, valiant hearts and true ; Men who have proved 'all fortunes, and have long Grieved over that of Venice, and have right To do so ; having served her in all climes, And having- rescued her from foreign foes, Would do the same for those within her walls. They are not numerous, nor yet too few For their great purpose ; they have arms, and means/ And hearts, and hopes, and faith, and patient courage. This drama, to be properly appreciated, both in its taste and feeling, should be considered as addressed to the. Italians of the epoch at which it was written. Had it been written in the Italian instead of the English language, and brought out in any city of Italy, the effect would have been prodigious. It is, indeed, a work not to be estimated by the delineations of character nor the force of passion expressed in it, but altogether by the apt and searching sarcasm of the political allusions. Viewed with reference to the time and place in which it was composed, it would proba- bly deserve to be ranked as a high and bold effort: simply as a drama, it may not be entitled to rank above tragedies of the second or third class. But I mean not to set my opinion of this work against that of the public, the English public ; all I contend for is, that it possesses many passages of uncommon beauty, and that its chief tragic merit consists in its political indignation; but above all, that it is another and a strong proof, too, of what I have been endeavouring to show, that the power of the poet consisted in giving vent to his own feelings, and not like his great bre- thren, or even his less, in the invention of situations or of appropriate sentiments. It is, perhaps, as it stands, not fit to succeed in representation ; but it is so rich in matter that it would not be a difficult task to make out of little more than the third part, a tragedy which would not dishonour the English stage. tOUD MRtftt. 231 I have never been able to understand why it has been so often supposed that Lord Byron was actuated in the composition of his different works by any other motive than enjoyment; perhaps no poet had ever less of an ulterior purpose in his mind during the fits of in- spiration (for the epithet may be applied correctly to him and to the moods in which he was accustomed to write) than this singular and impassioned man. Those who imagine that he had any intention to im- pair the reverence due to religion, or to weaken the hinges of moral action, give him credit for far more design and prospective purpose than he possessed. They could have known nothing of the man, the main defect of whose character, in relation to every thing, was in having too little of the element or principle of purpose. He was a thing of impulses, and to judge of of what he either said or did, as the results of prede- termination, wa,s not only to do the harshest injustice, but to show a total ignorance of his character. His whole fault, the darkest course of those flights and de- viations from propriety which have drawn upon him the severest animadversion, lay in the unbridled state of his impulses. He felt, but never reasoned. I am led to make these observations by noticing the ungracious, or more justly, the illiberal spirit in which. The Pro- phecy of Dante, which was published with the Ma- rino Faliero, has been treated by the anonymous au- thor of Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Lord Byron. Of The Prophecy of Dante I am no particular admirer. It contains, unquestionably, stanzas of re- sounding energy, but the general verse of the poem is as harsh and abrupt as the clink and clang of the cymbal ; moreover, even for a prophecy, it is too ob- scure, and though it possesses abstractedly too many fine thoughts, and too much of the combustion of heroic passion to be regarded as a failure, yet it will 232 'THE LIFE 0E never be popular. It is a quarry, however, of very precious poetical expression. It was written at Ravenna, and at the suggestion of the Guiccioli, to whom it is dedicated in a. sonnet, prettily but inharmoniously turned. Like all his other best performances, this rugged but masterly composi- tion draws its highest interest from himself and his own feelings, and can only be rightly appreciated by ob- serving how fitly many of the bitter breathings of Dante apply to his own exiled and outcast condition. For, however much he was himself the author of his own banishment, he felt when he wrote these haughty verses that he had been sometimes shunned. LORD BYRON. 233 CHAPTER XXXVI. The tragedy'of Sardanapalus considered, with reference to Lord Byron's own circumstances. — Cain. Among the mental enjoyments which endeared Ra- venna to Lord Byron, the composition of Sardanapalus may be reckoned the chief. It seems to have been con- ceived in a happier mood than any of all his other works ; for even while it inculcates the dangers of voluptuous indulgence, it breathes the very essence of benevolence and philosophy. Pleasure takes so much of the cha- racter of virtue in it, that but for the moral taught by the consequences, enjoyment might be mistaken for duty. I have never been able to satisfy myself in what the resemblance consists, but from the first read- ing it has always appeared to me that there was some elegant similarity between the characters of Sarda- napalus and Hamlet, and my inclination has sometimes led me to imagine that the former was the nobler con- ception of the two. The Assyrian monarch, like the Prince of Denmark, is highly endowed, capable of the greatest undertak- ings ; he is yet softened by a philosophic indolence of nature that makes him undervalue the enterprises of ambition, and all those objects in the attainment of which so much of glory is supposed to consist. They are both alike incapable of rousing themselves from the fond reveries of moral theory, even when the strongest motives are presented to them. Hamlet hesitates to act, though his father's spirit hath come 234 THE LIFE OF from death to incite him; and Sardanapalus derides the achievements that had raised his ancestors to an equality with the gods. Thou wouldst have me go Forth as a conqueror. — By all the stars Which the Chaldeans read I the restless slaves Deserve that I should curse them with their wishes And lead them forth to glory. Again : The ungrateful and ungracious slaves ! they murmur Because I have not shed their blood, nor led them To dry into the deserts' dust by myriads, Or whiten with their bones the banks of Ganges, Nor decimated them with savage laws, Nor sweated them to build up pyramids Or Babylonian walls. The nothingness of kingly greatness and national pride were never before so finely contemned as by the voluptuous Assyrian, and were the scorn not mitigated by the skilful intermixture of mercifulness and phi- lanthropy, the character would not be endurable. But when the same voice which pronounced contempt on the toils of honour says, Enough For me, if I can make my subjects feel The weight of human misery less, it is impossible to repress the liking which the humane spirit of that thought is calculated to inspire. Nor is there any want of dignity in Sardanapalus, even when lolling softest in his luxury. Must I consume my life — this little life — In guarding against all may make it less t It is not worth so much. — It were to die Before my hour to live in dread of death. * * * Till now no drop of an Assyrian vein Hath flow'd for me, nor hath the smallest coin Of Nineveh's vast treasures e'er been lavish'd On objects which could cost her sons a tear. If then they hate me 'tis because I hate not If they rebel 'tis because I oppress not. LOUD BYROfr. 235 This is imagined in the true tone of Epicurean virtue, and it rises to magnanimity when he adds in compas- sionate scorn, Oil, men ! ye must be ruled with scythes, not sceptres, And mow'd clown like the grass, else all we reap j Is rank abundance and a rotten harvest Of discontents infecting the fair soil, Making a desert of fertility. But the graciousness in the conception of the cha- racter of Sardanapalus, is not to be found only in these sentiments of his meditations, but in all and every situation in which the character is placed. When Salamenes bids him not sheath his sword — 'Tis the sole sceptre left you now with safety, / The king replies— " A heavy one ;" and subjoins, as if to conceal his distate for war, by ascribing a dislike to the sword it- self, The hilt, too, hurts my hand. It may be asked why I dwell so particularly on the character of Sardanapalus. It is admitted that he is the most heroic of voluptuaries, the most philosophical of the licentious. The first he is undoubtedly, but he is not licentious ; and in omitting to make him so, the poet has prevented his readers from disliking his cha- racter upon principle. It was a skilful stroke of art to do this; had it been otherwise, and had there been no affection shown for the Ionian slave, Sardanapalus would have engaged no sympathy. It is not, however, with respect to the ability with which the character has been imagined, nor to the poetry with which it is invested, that I have so particularly made it a sub- ject of criticism ; it was to point out how much in it Lord Byron has interwoven of his own best nature. At the time when he was occupied with this great work, he was confessedly in the enjoyment of the hap- 236 THE LIFE OF piest portion of his life. The Guiccioli was to him Myrrha, but the Carbonari were around, and in the controversy, in which Sardanapalus is engaged, be- tween the obligations of his royalty and his inclina tions for pleasure, we have a vivid insight of the co- gitation of the poet, whether to take a part in the hazardous activity which they were preparing, or to remain in the seclusion and festal repose of which he was then in possession. The Assyrian is as much Lord Byron as Childe Harold was, and bears his li- neaments in as clear a likeness, as a voluptuary un- sated could do those of the emaciated victim of satiety. Over the whole drama, and especially in some of the speeches of Sardanapalus, a great deal of fine but ir- relevant poetry and moral reflection has been profusely spread ; but were the piece adapted to the stage, these portions would of course be omitted, and the character denuded of them would then more fully justify the idea which I have formed of it, than it may perhaps to many readers do at present, hidden as it is, both in shape and contour, under an excess of ornament. That the character of Myrrha was also drawn from life, and that the Guiccioli was the model, I have no doubt. She had, when most enchanted by her passion for Byron — at the very time when the drama was written — many sources of regret ; and he was too keen an observer, and of too jealous a nature, not to have marked every shade of change in her ap- pearance, and her every moment of melancholy reminiscence ; so that, even though she might never have given expression to her sentiments, still such was her situation, that it could not but furnish him with fit suggestions from which to fill up the moral being of the Ionian slave. Were the character of Myrrha scanned with this reference, while nothing could be discovered to detract from the value of the composi- tion, a great deal would be found to lessen the merit of the poet's invention. He had with him the very - LORD BYRON". 237 being in person whom he has depicted in the drama, of dispositions and endowments greatly similar, and in circumstances in which she could not but feel as Myrrha is supposed to have felt : — and it must be ad- mitted, that he has applied the good fortune of that, incident to a beautiful purpose. This, however, is not all that the tragedy possesses of the author. The character of Zarina is, perhaps, even still more strikingly drawn from life. There are many touches in the scene with her which he could not have imagined, without thinking of his own do- mestic disasters. The first sentiment she utters is truly conceived in the very frame and temper in which Byron must have wished his lady to think of himself, and he could not imbody it without feeling that — ■ How many a year has past, Though we are still so young-,' since we have met, Which I have borne in widowhood of heart. The following delicate expression has reference to his having left his daughter with her mother, and un- folds more of his secret feelings on the subject than any thing he has expressed more ostentatiously else- where : I wish' d to thank you, that you have not divided - My heart from all that's left it now to love. And what Sardanapalus says of his children is not ! less applicable to Byron, and is true : Deem not I have not done you justice : rather make them Resemble your own line, than their own sire ; I trust them with you — to you. And when Zarina says, They'ne'er Shall know from me aughtjmt what may honour t, Their father's memory, 238 THE LIFE OF he puts in her mouth only a sentiment which he knew, if his wife never expressed to him, she probably, as he thought, acknowledged to herself. The whole of this scene is full of the most penetrating pathos ; and did the drama not contain, in every page, indubitable evidence to me, that he has shadowed out in it him- self, his wife, and his mistress, this little interview would prove a vast deal in confirmation of the opinion so often expressed, that where his genius was most in its element, it was when it dealt with his own sensi- bilities and circumstances. It is impossible to read the following speech, without a conviction that it was written at Lady Byron : My gentle wrong'd Zerina ! I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse — borne away with every breath 1 Misplaced upon the throne — misplaced in life. I know not what I could have been, but feel I am not what I should be — let it end. But take this with thee : if I was not form'd To prize a love like thine — a mind like thine — Nor dote even on thy beauty — as I've doted On lesser charms, for no cause save that such Devotion was a duty, and I hated All that look'd like a chain for me or others (This even rebellion must avouch) ; yet hear These words, perhaps among my last — that none E'er valued more thy virtues, though he knew not To profit by them. At Ravenna Cain was also written ; a dramatic poem in some degree, chiefly in its boldness, resem- bling the ancient mysteries of the monasteries before the secular stage was established. This performance, in point of conception, is of a sublime order. The object of the poem is to illustrate the energy and the art of Lucifer in accomplishing the ruin of the first- born. By an unfair misconception, the arguments of Lucifer have been represented as the sentiments of the author upon some imaginary warrantry derived from the exaggerated freedom of his life ; and yet the LORD BYRON. 239 moral tendency of the reflections are framed in a mood of reverence as awful towards Omnipotence as the austere divinity of Milton. It would be presumption in me, however, to undertake the defence of any ques- tion in theology ; but I have not been sensible to the imputed impiety whilst I have felt in many passages influences that have their being amidst the shadows and twilights of " old religion," " Stupendous spirits That mock the pride of man, and people space With life and mystical predominance." — Coleridge. ' The morning hymns and worship with which the mystery opens are grave, solemn, and scriptural, and the dialogue which follows with Cain is no less so : his opinion of the tree of life is, I believe, orthodox ; but it is daringly expressed : indeed, all the sentiments ascribed to Cain are but the questions of the sceptics. His description of the approach of Lucifer would have shone in the Paradise Lost. A shape like to the angels, Yet of a sterner and a sadder aspect Of spiritual essence. Why do I quake ? Why should I fear him more than other spirits Whom I see daily wave their fiery swords Before the gates round which I linger oft In twilight's hour, to catch a glimpse of those Gardens which are my just inheritance, Ere the night closes o'er the inhibited walls, And the immortal trees which overtop The cherubim -defended battlements ? I shrink not from these, the fire-arm'd angels ; Why'should I quail from him who now approaches ? Yet he seems mightier far than them, nor less Beauteous ; and yet not all as beautiful As he hath been, or might be : sorrow seems Half of his immortality. There is something spiritually fine in this conception of the terror or presentiment of coming evil. The poet rises to the sublime in making Lucifer first inspire 240 THE LIFE OF Cain with the knowledge of his immortality — a por- tion of truth which hath the efficacy of falsehood upon the victim; for Cain, feeling himself already unhappy, knowing that his being cannot be abridged, has the less scruple to desire to be as Lucifer, " mighty." The whole speech of Lucifer, beginning, Souls who dare use their immortality, is truly Satanic ; a daring and dreadful description given by everlasting despair of the Deity. But notwithstanding its manifold immeasurable imaginations, Cain is only a polemical controversy, the doctrines of which might have been better dis- cussed in the pulpit of a college chapel. As a poem it is greatly unequal; many passages consist of mere metaphysical disquisition, but there are others of won- derful scope and energy. It is a thing of doubts and dreams and reveries — dim and beautiful, yet withal full of terrors. The understanding finds nothing tangible ; but amidst dread and solemnity sees only a shadow, shapen darkness with eloquent gestures. It is an argument invested with the language of oracles and omens, conceived in some religious trance, and ad- dressed to spirits, LORD EYROft* 241 CHAPTER XXXVIL Removal to Pisa.— The Lanfranchi Palace.— Affair v/ith the guard a« Pisa.— Removal to Monte Nero.— Junction with Mr. Hunt.— Mr. Shel- ^ ley's letter. The unhappy distrusts and political jealousies of the times obliged Lord Byron, with the Gambas, the family of the Guiccioli, to remove from Ravenna to Pisa. In this compulsion he had no cause to com- plain ; a foreigner meddling with the politics of the country in which he was only accidentally resident, could expect no deferential consideration from the government. It has nothing to do with the question whether his Lordship was right or wrong in his princi- ples. The government was in the possession of the power, and in self-defence he could expect no other course towards him than what he did experience. He was admonished to retreat : he did so. Could he have done otherwise, he would not. He would have used the Austrian authority as ill as he was made to feel it did him. In the autumn of 1821, Lord Byron removed from Ravenna to Pisa, where he hired the Lanfranchi palace for a year — one of those massy marble piles which appear So old, as if tliey had for ever stood — So strong, as if they would for ever stand. Both in aspect and character it was interesting to the boding fancies of the noble tenant. It is said to have been constructed from a design of Michael An- il 242 THE LIFE or gelo ', and in the grandeur of its features exhibits a bold and colossal style not unworthy of his genius. The Lanfranchi family, in the time of Dante, were distinguished in the factions of those days, and one of them has received his meed of immortality from the poet, as the. persecutor of Ugolino. They are now extinct, and their traditionary reputation is illustrated by the popular belief in the neighbourhood, that their ghosts are restless, and still haunt their former gloomy and gigantic abode. The building was too vast for the establishment of Lord Byron, and he occupied only the first floor. The life he led at this period was dull and unvaried. Billiards, conversation, reading, and occasionally writ- ing, constituted the regular business of the day. In the cool of the afternoon, he sometimes went out in his car- riage, oftener on horseback, and generally amused him- self with pistol practice at a five paul piece. He dined at half an hour after sunset, and then drove to Count Gamba's, where he passed several hours with the Coun- tess Guiccioli, who at that time still resided with her father. On his return he read or wrote till the night was far spent, or rather till the morning was come again, sipping at intervals spirits diluted with water, as medicine to counteract some nephritic disorder to which he considered himself liable. Notwithstanding the tranquillity of this course of life, he was accidentally engaged in a transaction which threatened unpleasant consequences, and had a material effect on his comfort. On the 21st of March, 1822, as he was returning from his usual ride, in company with several of his friends, a hussar officer, at full speed, dashed through the party, and violently jostled one of them. Lord Byron, with his charac- teristic impetuosity, instantly pushed forward, and the rest followed, and overtook the hussar. His Lordship inquired what he meant by the insult ; but for answer, received the grossest abuse; on which LORD BYHOtf. 243 he aild one of his companions gave their cards, and passed on. The officer followed, hallooing, and threatening with his hand on his sabre. They were now near the Paggia gate. During this altercation, a common artilleryman interfered, and called out to the hussar, " Why don't you arrest them? — command us to arrest them." Upon which the officer gave the word to the guard at the gate. His Lordship hearing the order, spurred his horse, and one of his party doing the same, they succeeded in forcing their way through the soldiers, whilst the °:ate was closed on the rest of the party, with whom an outrageous scuffle ensued. Lord Byron, on reaching his palace, gave direc- tions to inform the police, and, not seeing his com- panions coming up, rode back towards the gate. On his way the hussar met him, and said, " Are you satisfied?" " No ; tell me your name !" " Serjeant Major Masi." One of his Lordship's servants, who at this moment joined them, seized the hussar's horse by the bridle, but his master commanded him to let it go. The hussar then spurred his horse through the crowd, which by this time had collected in front of the Lanfranchi Palace, and in the attempt w T as wounded by a pitchfork. Several of the servants were arrested, and imprisoned ; and, during the investigation of the affair before the police, Lord Byron's house was sur- rounded by the dragoons belonging to Serjeant-major Masi's troop, who threatened to force the doors. The result upon these particulars was not just ; all Lord Byron's Italian servants were banished from Pisa ; and with them the father and brother of the Guiccioli, who had no concern whatever in the affair. Lord Byron himself was also advised to quit the town, and, as the Countess accompanied her father, he soon after joined them at Leghorn, and passed six weeks at Monte Nero, a country-house in the vicinity of that city. » 2 244 THE LIFE OF It was during his Lordship's residence at Monte Nero, that an event took place — his junction witn Mr. Leigh Hunt — which had some effect both on his literary and his moral reputation. Previous to his depar- ture from England, there had been some intercourse between them — Byron had been introduced by Moore to Hunt, when the latter was suffering imprisonment for the indiscretion of his pen, and by his civility had encouraged him, perhaps, into some degree of forget- fulness as to their respective situations in society. — Mr. Hunt, at no period of their acquaintance appears to have been sufficiently sensible that a man of posi- tive rank has it always in his power, without giving any thing like such a degree of offence as may be re- sented otherwise than by estrangement, to inflict mor- tification, and, in consequence, presumed too much to an equality with his Lordship — at least this is the impression his conduct made upon me, from the fa- miliarity of his dedicatory epistle prefixed to Rimini to their riding out at Pisa together dressed alike — 4 'We had blue frock-coats, white waistcoats and trousers, and velvet caps, a la Raphael, and cut a gallant figure." I do not discover on the part of Lord Byron, that his, Lordship ever forgot his rank ; nor was he a personage likely to do so ; in saying, therefore, that Mr. Hunt presumed upon his condescension, I judge entirely by his own statement of facts. I am not undertaking a defence of his Lordship, for the manner in which he acted towards Mr. Hunt, because it appears to me to have been, in many respects, mean ; but I do think there was an original error, a misconception of himself on the part of Mr. Hunt, that drew down upon him a degree of humiliation that he might, by more self-respect, have avoided. However, I shall endeavour to give as correct a summary of the whole affair as the materials before me will justify. LOUD BYRON - . 245 The occasion of Hunt's removal to Italy will be best explained by quoting the letter from his friend Shelley, by which he was induced to take that obviously imprudent step. "Pisa, Aug. 26, 1821. " My dearest friend, " Since I last wrote to you, I have been on a visit to Lord Byron at Ravenna. The result of this visit was a determination on his part to come and live at Pisa, and I have taken the finest palace on the Lung* Arno for him. But the material part of my visit con- sists in a message which he desires me to give you, and which I think ought to add to your determination ■ — for such a one I hope you have formed — of re- storing your shattered health and spirits by a migra- tion to these ' regions mild, of calm and serene air.' " He proposes that you should come, and go shares with him and me in a periodical work to be conducted here, in which each of the contracting parties should publish all their original compositions, and share the profits. He proposed it to Moore, but for some rea- son it was never brought to bear. There can be no doubt that the profits of any scheme in which you and Lord Byron engage, must, from various yet co- operating reasons, be very great. As to myself, I am, for the present, only a sort of link between you and him, until you can know each other, and effec- tuate the arrangement ; since (to intrust you with a secret, which for your sake I withhold from Lord Byron) nothing would induce me to share in the profits, and still less in the borrowed splendour of such a partnership. You and he, in different man- ners, would be equal, and would bring in a different manner, but in the same proportion, equal stocks of reputation and success. Do not let my frankness with you, nor my belief that you deserve it more than Lord Byron, have the effect of deterring you from assuming a station in modern literature, which the 246 THE LIFE 01? universal voice of my contemporaries forbids me either to stoop or aspire to. I am, and I desire to be nothing. " I did not ask Lord Byron to assist, me in sending a remittance for your journey; because there are men, however excellent, from whom we would never receive an obligation in the worldly sense of the word ; and I am as jealous for my friend as for myself. I, as you know, have it not ; but I suppose that at last I shall make up an impudent face, and ask Horace Smith to add to the many obligations he has con- ferred on me. I know I need only ask." * * * Now before proceeding further, it seems from this epistle, and there is no reason to question Shelley's veracity, that Lord Byron was the projector of the Liberal ; that Hunt's political notoriety was mistaken for literary reputation, and that there was a sad lack of common sense in the whole scheme. LORD BYRON-. 247 CHAPTER XXXVIII. Mr. Hunt arrives in Italy. — Meeting with Lord Byron. — Tumults in the house. — Arrangements for Mr. Hunt's family. — Extent of his obliga- tions to Lord Byron. — Their copartnery. — Meanness of the whole business. On receiving Mr. Shelley's letter, Mr. Hunt prepared to avail himself of the invitation ; which he was the more easily enabled to do, as his friend, notwithstanding what he had intimated, borrowed two hundred pounds from Lord Byron, and remitted to him. He reached Leghorn soon after his Lordship had taken up his temporary residence at Monte Nero. The meeting with his Lordship was in so many re- spects remarkable, that the details of it cannot well "be omitted. The day was very hot; and when Hunt reached the house he found the hottest-looking habi- tation he had ever seen. Not content with having a red wash over it the red was the most unseasonable of all reds — a salmon-colour; but the greatest of all heats was within. Lord Byron was grown so fat that he scarcely knew liim; and was dressed in a loose nankeen jacket and white trousers, his neckcloth open, and his hair in thin ringlets about his throat ; altogether presenting a very different aspect from the compact, energetic, and curly-headed person whom Hunt had known in England. His Lordship took the stranger into an inner room, and introduced him to a young lady who was in a 248 THE LIFE OP state of great agitation. This was the Guiccioll; presently her brother also, in great agitation, entered, having his arm in a sling. This scene and confusion had arisen from a quarrel among the servants, in which the young count having interfered, had been stabbed. He was very angry, the countess was more so, and would not listen to the comments of Lord Byron, who was for making light of the matter. In- deed, it looked somewhat serious, for though the stab was not much, the inflictor threatened more, and was at that time revengefully, keeping watch, with knotted brows, under the portico, with the avowed intention of assaulting the first person who issued forth. He was a sinister-looking, meagre caitiff, with a red cap — gaunt, ugly, and unshaven ; his appearance altogether more squalid and miserable than Englishmen would conceive it possible to find in such an establishment. An end, however, was put to the tragedy by the fellow throwing himself on a bench, and bursting into tears — wailing and asking pardon for his offence, and perfecting his penitence by requesting Lord Byron to kiss him, in token of forgiveness. In the end, however, he was dismissed, and it being arranged that Mr. Hunt should move his family to apartments in the Lanfranchi Palace at Pisa, that gentleman re- turned to Leghorn. The account which Mr. Hunt has given, in his memoir of Lord Byron, is evidently written under offended feeling ; and in consequence, though he does not appear to have been much indebted to the muni- ficence of his Lordship, the tendency is to make his readers sensible that he w r as, if not illused, disap- pointed. The Casa Lanfranchi was a huge and gaunt building, capable, without inconvenience or inter- mixture, of accommodating several families. It was, therefore, not a great favour in his Lordship, consi- dering that he had invited Mr. Hunt from England to LORD BYROtf. 249 become a partner with him in a speculation purely commercial, to permit him to occupy the ground-floor, or flat, as it would be called in Scotland. The apart- ments being empty, furniture was necessary, and the plainest was provided; good of its kind and respectable, it yet could not have cost a great deal. It was chosen by Mr. Shelley, who intended to make a present of it to Mr. Hunt; but when the apartments were fitted up, Lord Byron insisted upon paying the account, and to that extent Mr. Hunt incurred a pecuniary obligation to his Lordship. The two hundred pounds already mentioned was a debt to Mr. Shelley, who borrowed the money from Lord Byron. Soon after Mr. Hunt's family were settled in their new lodgings, Shelley returned to Leghorn, with the intention of taking a sea excursion — in the course of which he was lost: Lord Byron, knowing how much Hunt was dependent. on that gentleman, immediately offered him the command of his purse, and requested to be considered as standing in the place of Shelley, his particular friend. This was both gentlemanly and generous, and the offer was accepted, but with feel- ings neither just nor gracious: " Stern necessity and a large family compelled me," says Mr. Hunt ; " and during our residence at Pisa I had from him, or rather from his steward, to whom he always sent me for the money, and who doled it out to me as if my disgraces were being counted, the sum of -seventy pounds." " This sum," he adds, " together with the payment of our expenses when we accompanied him from Pisa to Genoa, and thirty pounds with which he enabled us subsequently to go from Genoa to Florence, was all the money I ever received from Lord Byron, exclusive of the two hundred pounds, which, in the first instance, he made a debt of Mr. Shelley, by taking his bond." — The whole extent of the pecuniary obligation appears not certainly to have exceeded five hundred pounds; no great sum— but little or great, the manner in which 250 THE LIFE OF it was recollected reflects no credit either on the head or heart of the debtor. Mr. Hunt, in extenuation of the bitterness with which he has spoken on the subject, says, that " Lord Byron made no scruple of talking very freely of me and mine." It may, therefore, be possible that Mr. Hunt had cause for his resentment, and to feel the humiliation of being under obligations to a mean man ; at the same time Lord Byron, on his side, may upon experience have found equal reason to repent of his connexion with Mr, Hunt. And it is certain that each has sought to justify, both to himself and to the world, the rupture of a copartnery which ought never to have been formed. But his Lordship's conduct is the least justifiable. He had allured Hunt to Italy with flat- tering hopes ; he had a perfect knowledge of his ham- pered circumstances, and he was thoroughly aware that, until their speculation became productive, he must support him. To the extent of about five hundred pounds he did so ; a trifle, considering the glittering an- ticipations of their scheme. Viewing their copartnery, however, as a mere com- mercial speculation, his Lordship's advance could not be regarded as liberal, and no modification of the term munificence or patronage could be applied to it. But unless he had harassed Hunt for the repayment of the money, which does not appear to have been the case, nor could he morally, perhaps even legally, have done so, that gentleman had no cause to complain. The joint adventure was a failure, and except a little repining on the part of the one for the loss of his advance, and of grudging on that of the other for the waste of his time, no sharper feeling ought to have arisen between them. But vanity was mingled with their golden dreams. Lord Byron mistook Hunt's political notoriety for li- terary reputation, and Mr. Hunt thought it was a fine thing to be chum and partner with so renowned a Lord. After all, however, the worst which can be said LORD BYRON". 251 of it is, that formed in weakness it could produce only vexation. But the dissolution of the vapour with which both parties were so intoxicated, and which led to their quarrel, might have occasioned only amusement to the world, had it not left an ignoble stigma on the character of Lord Byron, and given cause to every admirer of his genius to deplore, that he should have so forgotten his dignity and fame. There is no disputing the fact, that his Lordship, in conceiving the plan of The Liberal, was actuated by sordid motives, and of the basest kind, inasmuch as it was intended, that the popularity of the work should rest upon satire ; or, in other words, on the ability to be displayed by it in the art of detraction. Being dis- appointed in his hopes of profit, he shuffled out of the concern as meanly as any higgler could have done who had found himself in a profitless business with a dis- reputable partner. There is no disguising this unvar- nished truth, and though his friends did well in getting the connexion ended as quickly as possible, they could not eradicate the original sin of the transaction, nor extinguish the consequences which it of necessity en- tailed. Let me not, however, be misunderstood : my objection to the conduct of Byron does not lie against the wish to turn his extraordinary talents to profitable account, but to the mode in which he proposed to, and did, employ them. Whether Mr. Hunt was or was not a fit copartner for one of his Lordship's rank and celebrity, I do not undertake to judge, but any individual was good enough for that vile prostitution of his genius, to which, in an unguarded hour he submitted for money. Indeed, it would be doing injustice to compare the motives of Mr. Hunt in the business with those by which Lord Byron was infa- tuated. He put nothing to hazard; happen what might, he could not be otherwise than a gainer; for if orofit failed, it could not be denied that the " fore- 252 THE LIFE OP most" poet of all the age had discerned in him either the promise or the existence of merit, which he was desirous of associating with his own. This advantage Mr. Hunt did gain by the connexion ; and it is his own fault that he cannot be recollected as the associate of Byron, but only as having attempted to deface his mo- nument. LORD BYRON". 253 CHAPTER XXXIX. Mr. Shelley.— Sketch of his life.— His death.— The burning of his body, and the return of the mourners. It lias been my study in writing these sketches to introduce as few names as the nature of the work would admit of; but Lord Byron connected him- self with persons who had claims to. public consi- deration on account of their talents ; and, without affectation, it is not easy to avoid taking notice of his intimacy with some of them, especially if in the course of it any circumstance came to pass which was in itself remarkable, or likely to have produced an impression on his Lordship's mind. His friendship with Mr. Shelley, mentioned in the preceding chapter, was an instance of this kind. That unfortunate gentleman was undoubtedly a man of genius — full of ideal beauty and enthusiasm. And yet there was some defect in his understanding by which he subjected himself to the accusation of atheism. In his dispositions he is represented to have been ever calm and amiable ; and but for his metaphysical errors and reveries, and a singular incapability of con- ceiving the existing state of things as it practically affects the nature and condition of man, to have possessed many of the gentlest qualities of huma- nity. He highly admired the endowments of Lord Byron, and in return was esteemed by his Lordship; but even had there been neither sympathy nor friend- 254 tHE LIFE Of ship between them, his premature fate could not but have saddened Byron with no common sorrow. Mr. Shelley was some years younger than his noble friend ; he was the eldest son of Sir Timothy Shelley, Bart., of Castle Goring, Sussex. At the age of thirteen he was sent to Eton, where he rarely mixed in the common amusements of the other boys ; but was of a shy reserved disposition, fond of solitude, and made few friends. He was not distinguished for his proficiency in the regular studies of the school ; on the contrary, he neglected them for German and Chemistry. His abilities were superior, but dete- riorated by eccentricity. At the age of sixteen he was sent to the University of Oxford, where he soon distinguished himself by publishing a pamphlet, under the absurd and world-defying title of The Necessity of Atheism; for which he was expelled the Univer- sity. The event proved fatal to his prospects in life ; and the treatment he received from his family was too harsh to win him from error. His father, however, in a short time, relented, and he was received home; but he took so little trouble to conciliate the esteem of his friends, that he found the house uncomfortable, and left it. He then went to London; where he eloped with a young lady to Gretna- green. Their united ages amounted to thirty-two ; and the match being deemed unsuitable to his rank and prospects, it so exasperated his father, that he broke off all com- munication with him. After their marriage the young couple resided some time in Edinburgh. They then passed over to Ireland, which, being in a state of disturbance, Shelley took a part in politics, more reasonable than might have been expected. He inculcated moderation. About this time he became devoted to the cultivation of his poetical talents ; but his works were sullied with the erroneous inductions of an understanding which, LORD BYROtf. 255 in as much as he regarded all the existing world in the wrong, must be considered as having been either shattered or defective. His rash marriage proved, of course, an unhappy one. After the birth of two children, a separation, by mutual consent, took place, and Mrs. Shelley committed suicide. He then married a daughter of Mr. Godwin, the author of Caleb Williams, and they resided for some time at Great Marlow, in Buckinghamshire, much respected for their charity. In the mean time, his irreligious opinions had attracted public notice, and, in consequence of his unsatisfactory notions of the Deity, his children, probably at the instance of his father, were taken from him by a decree of the Lord Chancellor : an event which, with increasing pecu- niary embarrassments, induced him to quit England, with the intention of never returning. Being in Switzerland when Lord Byron, after his domestic tribulations arrived at Geneva, they became acquainted. He then crossed the Alps, and again at Venice renewed his friendship with his Lordship, he thence passed to Rome, where he resided some time ; and after visiting Naples, fixed his permanent re- sidence in Tuscany. His acquirements were con- stantly augmenting, and he was without question an accomplished person. He was, however, more of a metaphysician than a poet, though there are splendid specimens of poetical thought in his works. As a man, he was objected to only on account of his speculative opinions ; for he possessed many amiable qualities, was just in his intentions, and generous to excess. When he had seen Mr. Hunt established in the Casa Lanfranchi with Lord Byron at Pisa, Mr. Shelley returned to Leghorn, for the purpose of taking a sea excursion; an amusement to which he was much 256 THE LIFE OF attached. During a violent storm the boat was swamped, and the party on board were all drowned. Their bodies were, however, afterwards cast on shore ; Mr. Shelley's was found near Via Reggio, and, being greatly decomposed, and unfit to be removed, it was determined to reduce the remains to ashes, that they might be carried to a place of sepulture. Accordingly preparations were made for the burning. Wood in abundance was found on the shore, con- sisting of old trees and the wreck of vessels : the spot itself was well suited for the ceremony. The magnifi- cent bay of Spezia was on the right, and Leghorn on the left, at equal distances of about two-and-twenty miles. The headlands project boldly far into the sea ; in front lie several islands, and behind dark forests and the cliffy Apennines. Nothing was omitted that could exalt and dignify the mournful rites with the asso- ciations of classic antiquity : frankincense and wine were not forgotten. The weather was serene and beautiful, and the pacified ocean was silent, as the flame rose with extraordinary brightness. Lord Byron was present; but he should himself have described the scene, and what he felt. These antique obsequies were undoubtedly affect- ing ; but the return of the mourners from the burning, is the most appalling orgia, without the horror of crime, of which I have ever heard. When the duty was done, and the ashes collected, they dined and drank much together, and bursting from the calm mastery with which they had repressed their feelings during the solemnity, gave way to frantic exultation. They were all drunk ; they sang, they shouted, and their barouche was driven like a whirlwind through the forest. I can conceive nothing descriptive of the demoniac revelry of that: flight, but scraps of the dead man's own song of Faust, Mephistophiles, and Ignis Fatuus, in alternate chorus. . LOUD BYRON. 257 The limits of the sphere of dream, The bounds of true and false are past ; Lead us on thou wand' ring Gleam j Lead us onward, far and fast, To the wide, the desert waste. But see how swift, advance and shift, Trees behind trees — row by row, Now clift by clift,; ; rocks bend and lift, Their frowning foreheads as we go ; The giant-snouted crags, ho ! ho ! How they snort, and how they blow. Honour her to whom honour is due, 1 Old mother Baubo, honour to you. An able sow with old Baubo upon her Is;worthy of glory and worthy of honour. The way is wide, the way is long, But what is that for a Bedlam throng ? Some on a ram, and some on a prong, On poles and on broomsticks we flutter along. Every trough will be boat enough, With a rag for a sail, we can sweep through the sky, Who flies not to night, when means he to fly ? 258 THE LIFE OF CHAPTER XL, The Two Foscari..— Werner.— The Deformed Transformed.**— Don Juan.— The Liberal. — Removes from Pisa to Genoa. I have never heard exactly where the tragedy of The Two Foscari was written ; that it was imagined in Venice is probable. The subject is, perhaps, not very fit for a drama, for it has no action ; but it is rich in tragic materials, revenge and affection, and the composition is full of the peculiar stuff of the poet's own mind. The exulting sadness with which Jacopo Foscari looks in the first scene from the win- dow, on the Adriatic, is Byron himself recalling his enjoyment of the sea. How many a time have I Cloven with arm still lustier, heart more daring, The wave all roughen'd ; with a swimmer's stroke Flinging the billows hack from my drench'd hair, And laughing from my lip th' audacious brine "Which kiss'd it like a wine-cup. The whole passage, both prelude and remainder, glows with the delicious recollections of laving and revelling in the summer waves. But the exile's feeling is no less .beautifully given and appropriate to the author's condition, far more so, indeed, than to that of Jacopo Foscari. LORD BYRON. 259 Had I gone forth From my own land, like the old patriarchs, seeking Another region with their flocks and herds ; Had I been cast out like the Jews from Zion, Or like our fathers driven by Attila From fertile Italy to barren islets, I would have given some tears to my late country , And many thoughts ; but afterwards address'd Myself to those about me, to create A new home and first state. What follows is still more pathetic : Ay — we but hear Of the survivors' toil in their new lands, Their numbers and success ; but who can number The hearts which broke in silence of that parting, Or after their departure ; of that malady * Which calls up green and native fields to view From the rough deep with such identity To the poor exile's fever 'd eye, that he Can scarcely be restrained from treading them ? That melody f which out of tones and tunes Collects such pastime for the ling'ring sorrow Of the sad mountaineer, Avhen far away From his snow-canopy of cliffs and clouds, That he feeds on the sweet but poisonous thought And dies. — You call this weakness ! It is strength, I say — the parent of all honest feeling : He who loves not his country can love nothing. MARINA. Obey her then, 'tis she that puts thee forth. JACOPO FOSCARI. Ay, there it is. 'Tis like a mother's curse Upon my soul — the mark is set upon me. The exiles you speak of went forth by nations ; Their hands upheld each other by the Way ; Their tents were pitch'd together— I'm alone — Ah, you never yet Were far away from Venice— never saw * The calenture , f The Swiss air. s2 260 THE LIFE OF Her beautiful towers in the receding distance, While every furrow of the vessel's track Seem'd ploughing deep into your heart ; you never Saw day go down upon your native spires So calmly with its gold and crimson glory, And after dreaming a disturbed vision Of them and theirs, awoke and found them not. All this speaks of the voluntary exile's own regrets, and awakens sympathy for the anguish which pride concealed, but unable to repress, gave vent to in the imagined sufferings of one that was to him as Hecuba. It was at Pisa that Werner, or The Inheritance, a tragedy, was written, or at least completed. It is taken entirely from the German's tale, Kruitzner, pub- lished many years before, by one of the Miss Lees, in their Canterbury Tales. So far back as 1815, Byron began a drama upon the same subject, and nearly completed an act when he was interrupted. " I have adopted," he says himself, " the characters, plan, and even the language of many parts of this story ;" an acknowledgment which exempts it from that kind of criticism to which his principal works are herein subjected. But The Deformed Transformed, which was also written at Pisa, is, though confessedly an imitation of Goethe's Faust, substantially an original work. In the opinion of Mr. Moore, it probably owes some- thing to the author's painful sensibility to the defect in his own foot; an accident which must, from the acuteness with which he felt it, have essentially con- tributed to enable him to comprehend and to express the envy of those afflicted with irremediable excep- tions to the ordinary course of fortune, or who have been amerced by nature of their fair proportions. But save only a part of the first scene, the sketch will not rank among the felicitous works of the poet. It was intended to be a satire — probably, at least^-but it is only a fragment — a failure* tORD BYROtf. 261 Hitherto I have not noticed Don Juan otherwise than incidentally. It was commenced in Venice, and afterwards continued at intervals to the end of the six- teenth canto, until the author left Pisa, when it was not resumed, at least no more has been published. Strong objections have been made to its moral tend- ency, but, in the opinion of many, it is the poet's mas- terpiece, and undoubtedly it displays all the variety of his powers, combined with a quaint playfulness not found to an equal degree in any other of his works. The serious and pathetic portions are exquisitely beau- tiful; the descriptive have all the distinctness of the best pictures in Cbilde Harold, and are, moreover, ge- nerally drawn from nature, while the satire is for the most part curiously associated and sparklingly witty. The characters are sketched with amazing firmness and freedom, and though sometimes grotesque, are yet not often overcharged. It is professedly an epic poem, but it may be more properly described as a poetical novel. Nor can it be said to inculcate any particular moral, or to do more than unmantle the decorum of society. Bold and buoyant throughout, it ex- hibits a free irreverent knowledge of the world, laugh- ing or mocking as the thought serves, in the most un- expected antitheses to the proprieties of time, place, and circumstance. The object of the poem is to describe the progress ot a libertine through life, not an unprincipled prodigal, whose profligacy, growing with his growth and strength- ening with his strength, passes from voluptuous in- dulgence into the sordid sensuality of systematic de- bauchery, but a young gentleman who, whirled by the vigour and vivacity of his animal spirits into a world of adventures, in which his stars are chiefly in fault for his liaisons, settles at last into an honourable lawgiver, a moral speaker on divorce bills, and possibly a subscriber to the Society for the Suppression of Vice. The author has not completed his design^but such appears to have 262 THE LIFE OE been the drift of it, affording ample opportunities to unveil the foibles and follies of all sorts of men — and women too. It is generally supposed to contain much of the author's own experience, but still, with all its riant knowledge of bowers and boudoirs, it is defi- cient as a true limning of the world, by showing man as if he were always ruled by one predominant appe- tite. In the character of Donna Inez and Don Jose, it has been imagined that Lord Byron has sketched himself and his lady. It may be so ; and if it were, he had by that time got pretty well over the lachry- mation of their parting. It is no longer doubtful that the twenty-seventh stanza records a biographical fact, and the thirty-sixth his own feelings ; when, Poor fellow ! lie had many things to wound him, Let's own, since it can clo no good on earth ; It was a trying moment that which found him Standing alone beside his desolate hearth, Where all his household gods Jay shiver'd round him : No choice was left his feelings or his pride, Save death or Doctors' Commons. It has been already mentioned, that while the poet was at Dr. Glennie's academy at Dulwich, he read an account of a shipwreck, which has been supposed to have furnished some of the most striking incidents in the description of the disastrous voyage in the second canto in Don Juan. I have not seen that work ; but whatever Lord Byron may have found in it suitable to his purpose, he has undoubtedly made good use of his grandfather's adventures. The incident of the spaniel is related by the admiral. In the licence of Don Juan, the author seems to have considered that his wonted accuracy might be dispensed with. The description of Haidee applies to an Albanian, not a Greek girl. The splendour of her father's house LORD EYROtf. 263 is altogether preposterous ; and the island has no resem- blance to those of the Cyclades. With the exception of Zea, his Lordship, however, did not visit them. Some degree of error and unlike description, runs indeed through the whole of the still life around the portrait of Haidee. The fete which Lambro discovers on his return, is, however, prettily described ; and the dance is as perfect as true. And further on a group of Grecian girls, The first and tallest her white kerchief waving, Were strung together like a row of pearls, Link'd hand in hand and dancing ; each too having Down her white neck long floating auburn curls. Their leader sang, and bounded to her song With choral step and voice, the virgin throng. The account of Lambro proceeding to the house, is poetically imagined; and, in his character, may be traced a vivid likeness of Ali Pashaw, and happy illustrative allusions to the adventures of that chief. The fourth canto was written at Ravenna ; it is so said within itself; and the description of Dante's sepulchre there may be quoted for its truth, and the sweet modulation of the moral reflection interwoven with it. I pass each day where Dante's bones are laid ; A little cupola, more neat than solemn, Protects his dust ; but reverence here is paid To the bard's tomb and not the warrior's column. The time must come when both alike decay'd, The chieftain's trophy and the poet's volume Will sink where lie the songs and Avars of earth, Before Pelides' death or Homer's birth. The fifth canto was also written in Ravenna. But it is not my intention to analyze this eccentric and mean- dering poem; a composition which cannot be well estimated by extracts. Without, therefore, dwelling at greater length on its variety and merits, I would only 264 THE LIFE OF observe that the general accuracy of the poet's de- scriptions is verified by that of the scenes in which Juan is placed in England, a point the reader may determine for himself; while the vagueness of the parts derived from books, or sketched from fancy, as contrasted with them, justify the opinion, that in- vention was not the most eminent faculty of Byron, either in scenes or in characters. Of the demerits of the poem it is only necessary to remark, that it has been proscribed on account of its immorality; per- haps, however, there was more of prudery than of equity in the decision, at least it is liable to be so considered, so long as reprints are permitted of the older dramatists, with all their unpruned licen- tiousness. But the wheels of Byron's destiny were now hur- rying. Both in the conception and composition of Don Juan he evinced an increasing disregard of the world's opinion ; and the project of The Liberal was still more fatal to his reputation. Not only were the invidious eyes of bigotry now eagerly fixed upon his conduct, but those of admiration were saddened and turned away from him. His principles, which would have been more correctly designated as paradoxes, were objects of jealousy to the Tuscan Government ; and it has been already seen that there was a disorder- liness about the Casa Lanfranchi which attracted the attention of the police. His situation in Pisa became, in consequence, irksome ; and he resolved to remove to Genoa, an intention which he carried into effect about the end of September, 1822, at which period his thoughts began to gravitate towards Greece. Having attained to the summit of his literary eminence, he grew ambitious of trying fortune in another field of adventure. In all the migrations of Lord Byron there was ever something grotesque and desultory. In moving from Ravenna to Pisa, his caravan consisted of seven LORD BYROTT. 265 servants, five carriages, nine horses, a monkey, a bull- dog, and a mastiff, two cats, three peafowl, a harem of hens, books, saddles, and fire-arms, with a chaos of furniture ; nor was the exodus less fantastical ; for in addition to all his own elanjamphry, he had Mr. Hunt's miscellaneous assemblage of chattels and chattery and little ones. %66 THE LIFE OF CHAPTER XLI Genoa. — Change in -the manners of Lord Byron. — Residence at the Casa . Saluzzi. — The Liberal. — Remarks on the Poet's works in general, and £ on Hunt's strictures on his character. Previously to their arrival at Genoa, a house had been taken for Lord Byron and the Guiccioli in Albaro, a pleasant village on a hill, in the vicinity of the city ; it was the Casa Saluzzi, and I have been told, that during the time he resided there, he seemed to enjoy a more uniform and temperate gaiety than in any former period of his life. There might have been less of sentiment in his felicity, than when he lived at Ravenna, as he seldom wrote poetry, but he appeared to some of his occasional visiters, who knew him in London, to have become more agreeable and manly. I may add, at the risk of sarcasm for the vanity, that in proof of his mel- lowed temper towards me, besides the kind frank- ness with which he received my friend as already mentioned, he sent me word, by the Earl of Blesinton, that he had read my novel of The Entail three times, and thought the old Leddy Grippy one of the most living-like heroines, he had ever met with. This was the more agreeable, as I had heard within the same week, that Sir Walter Scott had done and said nearly the same thing. Half the compliment from two such men would have been something to be proud of. Lord Byron's residence at Albaro was separate from LOUD BYROK. 267 that of Mr. Hunt, and, in consequence, they were more rarely together than when domiciled under the' same roof as at Pisa. Indeed, by this time, if one may take Mr. Hunt's own account of the matter, they appear to have become pretty well tired of each other. He had found out that a peer is, as a friend, but as a plebeian, and a great poet not always a high-minded man. His Lordship had, on his part, discovered that something more than smartness or ingenuity is necessary to pro- tect patronage from familiarity. Perhaps intimate ac- quaintance had also tended to enable him to appre- ciate, with greater accuracy, the meretricious genius and artificial tastes of his copartner in the Liberal. It is certain that he laughed at his affected admiration of landscapes, and considered his descriptions of scenery as drawn from pictures. One day, as a friend of mine was conversing with his Lordship at the Casa Saluzzi, on the moral im- pressions of magnificent scenery, he happened to re- mark that he thought the view of the Alps in the evening, from Turin, the sublimest scene he had ever beheld. " It is impossible," said he, " at such a time, when all the west is golden and glowing behind them, to contemplate such vast masses of the Deity without being awed into rest, and forgetting such things as man and his follies." " Hunt," said his Lordship, smiling, " has no perception of the sublimity of Al- pine scenery ; he calls a mountain a great impostor." In the mean time the materials for the first number of The Liberal had been transmitted to London, where the manuscript of The Vision of Judgment was already, and something of its quality known. All his Lord- ship's friends were disturbed at the idea of the publi- cation. They did not like the connexion he had formed with Mr. Shelley — they liked still less the copartnery with Mr. Hunt. With the justice or in- justice of these dislikes I have nothing to do. It is an historical fact that they existed, and became mo- 268 THE LIFE OF tives with those who deemed themselves the custodiers of his Lordship's fame, to seek a dissolution of the as- sociation. The first number of The Liberal, containing The Vision of Judgment, was received soon after the co- partnery had established themselves at Genoa, accom- panied with hopes and fears. Much good could not be anticipated from a work which outraged the loyal and decorous sentiments of the nation towards the memory of George III. To the second number Lord Byron contributed the Heaven and Earth, a sacred drama, which has been much misrepresented in con- sequence of its fraternity with Don Juan and The Vision of Judgment ; for it contains no expression to which religion can object, nor breathes a thought at variance with the Genesis. The history of literature affords no instance of a condemnation less justifiable, on the plea of profanity, than that of this Mystery. That it abounds in literary blemishes, both of plan and language, and that there are harsh jangles and discords in the verse, is not disputed ; but still it abounds in a grave patriarchal spirit, and is echo to the oracles of Adam and Melchisedeck. It may not be worthy of Lord Byron's genius, but it does him no dishonour, and contains passages which accord with the solemn diapasons of ancient devotion. The dis- gust which The Vision of Judgment had produced, rendered it easy to persuade the world that there was impiety in the Heaven and Earth, although, in point of fact, it may be described as hallowed with the scriptural theology of Milton. The objections to its literary defects were magnified into sins against wor- ship and religion. The Liberal stopped with the fourth number, I believe. It disappointed not merely literary men in general, but even the most special admirers of the talents of the contributors. The main defect of the work was a lack of knowledge. Neither in style nor LORD BYRON. 269 genius, nor even in general ability, was it wanting ; but where it showed learning, it was not of a kind in which the age took much interest. Moreover, the manner and cast of thinking of all the writers in it were familiar to the public, and they were too few in number to variegate their pages with sufficient novelty. But the main cause of the failure was the antipathy formed and fostered against it before it appeared. It was cried down, and it must be ac- knowledged that it did not much deserve a better fate. With The Liberal, I shall close my observations on the works of Lord Byron. They are too voluminous to be examined even in the brief and sketchy manner in which I have considered those which are deemed the principal. Besides they are not, like them, all characteristic of the author, though possessing great similarity in style and thought to one another. Nor would such general criticism accord with the plan of this work. Lord Byron was not always thinking of himself : like other authors, he sometimes wrote from imaginary circumstances ; and often fancied both situa- tions and feelings which had no reference to his own, nor to his experience. But were the matter deserving of the research, I am persuaded, that with Mr. Moore's work, and the poet's original journals, notes, and let- ters, innumerable additions might be made to the list of passages which the incidents of his own life dictated. The abandonment of The Liberal closed his Lordship's connexion with Mr. Hunt ; their friendship, if such ever really existed, was ended long before. It is to be regretted that Byron has not given some account of it himself ; for the manner in which he is represented to have acted towards his unfortunate partner, renders another version of the tale desirable. At the same time — and I am not one of those who are disposed to magnify the faults and infirmities of Byron — I fear there is no excess of truth in Hunt's opinion of him. I 270 THE LIFE OF judge by an account which Lord Byron gave himself to a mutual friend, who did not, however, see the treatment in exactly the same light as that in which it appeared to me. But, while I cannot regard his Lordship's conduct as otherwise than unworthy, still the pains which Mr. Hunt has taken to elaborate his character and dispositions into every modification of weakness, almost justifies us in thinking that he was treated according to his deserts. Byron had at least the manners of a gentleman, and though not a judi- cious knowledge of the world, he yet possessed prudence enough not to be always unguarded. Mr. Hunt in- forms us, that when he joined his Lordship at Leghorn, his own health was impaired, and that his disease rather increased than diminished, during his residence at Pisa and Genoa ; to say nothing of the effect which the loss of his friend had on him, and the disappoint- ment he suffered in The Liberal, some excuse may, therefore, be made for him. In such a condition, mis- apprehensions were natural ; jocularity might be mis- taken for sarcasm, and caprice felt as insolence. LORD BYROK. 271 CHAPTER XLIL lord Byron resolves to join the Greeks.— Arrives at Cephalonia.— Greek . factions. — Sends emissaries to the Grecian chiefs. — Writes to London ' about the loan.— To Mavrocordato on the dissensions.—- Embarks at last for Missolonghi. Whilst The Liberal was halting onward to its na- tural doom, the attention of Lord Byron was attracted towards the struggles of Greece. In that country his genius was first effectually de- veloped ; his name was associated with many of its most romantic scenes, and the cause was popular with all the educated and refined of Europe. He had formed besides a personal attachment to the land, and perhaps many of his most agreeable local associations were fixed amidst the ruins of Greece, and in her desolated valleys. The name is indeed alone calculated to awaken the noblest feelings of humanity. The spirit of her poets, the wisdom and the heroism of her worthies; whatever is splendid in genius, unparalleled in art, glorious in arms, and wise in philosophy, is associated in their highest excellence with that beautiful region. Had Lord Byron never been in Greece, he was, un- doubtedly, one of those men whom the resurrection of her spirit was likeliest to interest ; but he was not also one fitted to do her cause much service. His innate indolence, his sedentary habits, and that all-engrossing consideration for himself, which, in every situation, marred his best impulses, were shackles upon the 272 THE LIFE OF practice of the stern bravery in himself which he has so well expressed in his works. It was expected when he sailed for Greece, nor was the expectation unreasonable with those who believe imagination and passion to be of the same element, that the enthusiasm which flamed so highly in his verse was the spirit of action, and would prompt him to undertake some great enterprise. But he was only an artist; he could describe bold adventures and re- present high feeling, as other gifted individuals give eloquence to canvass and activity to marble ; but he did not possess the wisdom necessary for the instruction of councils. I do, therefore, venture to say, that in embarking for Greece, he was not entirely influenced by such exoterical motives as the love of glory or the aspi- rations of heroism. His laurels had for some time ceased to flourish, the sear and yellow, the mildew and decay, had fallen upon them, and he was aware that the bright round of his fame was ovalling from the full and showing the dim rough edge of waning. He was, moreover, tired of the Guiccioli, and again afflicted with a desire for some new object with which to be in earnest. The Greek cause seemed to offer this, and a better chance for distinction than any other pur- suit in which he could then engage. In the spring of 1823 he accordingly made preparations for transfer- ring himself from Genoa to Greece, and opened a corre- spondence with the leaders of the insurrection, that the importance of his adhesion might be duly appreciated. Greece, with a fair prospect of ultimate success, was at that time as distracted in her councils as ever. Her arms had been victorious, but the ancient jealousy of the Greek mind was unmitigated. The third campaign had commenced, and yet no regular government had been organized; the fiscal resources of the country were neglected ; a wild energy against the Ottomans was all that the Greeks could depend on for continue ing the war* LORD BYROtf. 273 Lord Byron arrived in Cephalonia about the middle of August, 1823, where he fixed his residence for some time. This was prudent, but it said nothing for that spirit of enterprise with which a man engaging in such a cause, in such a country, and with such a people, ought to have been actuated — especially after Marco Botzaris, one of the best and most distinguished of the chiefs, had earnestly urged him to join him at Mis- solonghi. I fear that I may not be able to do justice to Byron's part in the affairs of Greece; but I shall try. He did not disappoint me, for he only acted as might have been expected, from his unsteady energies. Many, however, of his other friends longed in vain to hear of that blaze of heroism, by which they anticipated that his appearance in the field would be distinguished. Among his earliest proceedings was the equipment of forty Suliotes, or Albanians, whom he sent to Marco Botzaris to assist in the defence of Missolonghi. An adventurer of more daring would have gone with them ; and when the battle was over, in which Botzaris fell, he transmitted bandages and medicines, of which he had brought a large supply from Italy, .and pecuniary succour to the wounded. This was considerate, but There was too much consideration in all that he did at this time, neither in, unison with the impulses of his natural character, nor consistent with the heroic enthu- siasm with which the admirers of his poetry imagined he was kindled. In the mean time he had offered to advance one thou- sand dollars a-month for the succour of Missolonghi and the troops with Marco Botzaris ; but the govern- ment, instead of accepting the offer, intimated that they wished previously to confer with him, which he interpreted into a desire to direct the expenditure of the money to other purposes. In this opinion his Lord- ship was probably not mistaken ; but his own account of his feeling in the business does not tend to exalt ..he magnanimity of his attachment to the cause ; ',* I 2?4 The life oe will take care," says lie, " that it is for the public cause, otherwise I will not advance a para. The op- position say they, want to cajole me, and the party in power say the others wish to seduce me ; so, between the two, I have a difficult part to play ; however, I will have nothing to do with the factions, unless to reconcile. them, if possible." It is difficult to conceive that Lord Byron, " the searcher of dark bosoms," could have expressed him- self so weakly and with such vanity ; but the shadow of coming fate had already reached him, and his judg- ment was suffering in the blight that had fallen on his reputation. To think of the possibility of reconciling two Greek factions, or any factions, implies a degree of ignorance of mankind, which, unless it had been given in his Lordship's own writing, would not have been credible ; and as to having nothing to do with the factions, for what purpose, went he to Greece, unless it was to take a part with one of them ? I ab- stain from saying what I think of his hesitation in going to the government instead of sending two of his associated adventurers, Mr. Trelawney and Mr. Hamil- ton Brown, whom he despatched to collect intelligence as to the real state of things, substituting their judgment for his own. When the Hercules, the ship he chartered to carry him to Greece, weighed anchor, he was com- mitted with the Greeks, and every thing short of un- equivocal folly he was bound to have done with and for them. His two emissaries or envoys proceeded to Tripo* lizza, where they found Colocotroni seated in the palace of the late vizier, Velhi Pashaw, in great power ; the court-yard and galleries filled with armed men in garrison, while there was no enemy at that time in the Morea able to come against them ! The Greek chief- tains, like their classic predecessors, though embarked in the same adventure, were personal adversaries to each other. Colocotroni spoke of his compeer Mavro- LORD BYRON". 275 cordato in the very language of Agamemnon, . when he said that he had declared to him, unless he de- sisted from his intrigues, he would mount him on an ass and whip him out of the Morea ; and that he had only been restrained from doing so by the representa- tion of his friends, who thought it would injure their common cause. Such was the spirit of the chiefs of the factions which Lord Byron thought it not im- possible to reconcile ! At this time Missolonghi was in a critical state, be- ing blockaded both by land and sea ; and the report of Trelawney to Lord Byron concerning it, was calcu- lated to rouse his Lordship to activity. " There have been," says he, " thirty battles fought and won by the late Marco Botzaris, and his gallant tribe of Suliotes, who are shut up in Missolonghi. If it fall, Athens will be in danger, and thousands of throats cut : a few thousand dollars would provide ships to re- lieve it ; a portion of this sum is raised, and I would coin my heart to save this key of Greece." Bravely said! but deserving of little attention. The fate of Missolonghi could have had no visible effect on that of Athens. The distance between these two places is mOre than a hundred miles, and Lord Byron was well acquainted with the local difficulties of the intervening country ; still it was a point to which the eyes of the Greeks were all at that time directed; and Mavrocordato, then in correspondence with Lord Byron, and who was en- deavouring to collect a fleet for the relief of the place, induced his Lordship to undertake to provide the money necessary for the equipment of the fleet, to the extent of twelve thousand pounds. It was on this occasion his Lordship addressed a letter to the Greek chiefs, that deserves to be quoted, for the sagacity with which it suggests what may be the conduct of the great powers of Christendom. (t I must frankly confess," says he, " that unless t2 276 THE LIFE OF union and order are confirmed, all hopes of a loan will be in vain, and all the assistance which the Greeks could expect from abroad, an assistance which might be neither trifling nor worthless, will be suspended or destroyed ; and what is worse, the great powers of Europe, of whom no one was an enemy to Greece, but seemed inclined to favour her in consenting to the establishment of an independent power, will be per- suaded that the Greeks are unable to govern them- selves, and will, perhaps, undertake to arrange your disorders in such a way, as to blast the brightest hopes you indulge, and that are indulged by your friends." In the mean time, Lord Byron was still at the villa he had hired in Cephalonia, where his conduct was rather that of a spectator than an ally. Colonel Stan- hope, in a letter of the 26th of November, describes him as having been there about three months, and spending his time exactly as every one acquainted with his habits must have expected. " The first six weeks he spent on board a merchant-vessel, and sel- dom went on shore, except on business. Since that period he has lived in a little villa in the country, in absolute retirement. Count Gamba (brother to the Guiccioli) being his only companion." — Such, surely, was not exactly playing that part in the Greek cause which he had taught the world to look for. It is true, that the accounts received there of the Greek affairs were not then favourable. Every body concurred in representing the executive government as devoid of public virtue, and actuated by avarice or personal am- bition. This intelligence was certainly not calculated to increase Lord Byron's ardour, and may partly ex- cuse the causes of his personal inactivity. I say per- sonal, because he had written to London to accelerate theattempt to raise a loan, and, at the suggestion of Colonel Stanhope, he addressed a letter to Mavrocor- dato respecting the inevitable consequences of their LOUD BYRON. 277 calamitous dissensions. The object of this letter was to induce a reconciliation between the rival factions, or to throw the odium, of having thwarted the loan, upon the Executive, and thereby to degrade the members of it in the opinion of the people. " I am very uneasy," says his Lordship to the prince, " at hearing that the dissensions of Greece still continue; and, at a moment when she might triumph over every thing in general, as she has triumphed in part. Greece is at present placed between three measures; either to reconquer her liberty, or to become a dependence of the sovereigns of Europe, or to return to a Turkish province; she has already the choice only of these three alternatives. Civil war is but a road which leads to the two latter. If she is desirous of the fate of Walachia and the Crimea, she may obtain it to-morroiv; if that of Italy, the day after. But, if she wishes to become truly Greece, free and independent, she must resolve to-day, or she will never again have the opportunity," &c. &c. Meanwhile the Greek people became impatient for Lord Byron to come among them. They looked for- ward to his arrival as to the coming of a Messiah. Three boats were successively despatched for him ; and two of them returned, one after the other, without him. On the 29th of December, 1823, however, his Lordship did at last embark, 278 THE LIFE OF CHAPTER XLIII. Lord Byron's conversations on religion with Dr. Kennedy. While Lord Byron was hesitating, in the island of Cephalonia, about proceeding to Greece, an occur- rence took place, of which so much has been made, that I may not venture to cast it into the notes of the appendix. I allude to the acquaintance he formed with a Dr. Kennedy, the publication of whose con- versations with him on religion, has attracted some degree of public attention- This gentleman was originally destined for the Scottish bar, but afterwards became a student of medicine, and entering the medical department of the army, happened to be stationed in Cephalonia when Lord Byron arrived. He appears to have been a man of kind dispositions, possessed of a better heart than judgment ; in all places wherever his duty bore him he took a lively interest in the condition of the inha- bitants, and was active, both in his official and private capacity, to improve it. He had a taste for circulating pious tracts, and zealously co-operated in distributing copies of the Scriptures. Firmly settled, himself, in a conviction of the truth of Christianity, he was eager to make converts to his views of the doctrines ; but whether he was exactly the kind of apostle to achieve the conversion of Lord Byron, LORD BYRON. 279 may, perhaps, be doubted. His sincerity and the dis- interestedness of his endeavours would secure to him from his Lordship an indulgent and even patient hear- ing. But I fear that without some more effectual call- ing, the arguments he appears to have employed were not likely to have made Lord Byron a proselyte. His Lordship was so constituted in his mind, and by his temperament, that nothing short of regeneration could have made him a Christian, according to the gospel of Dr. Kennedy. Lord Byron had but loose feelings in religion — scarcely any. His sensibility and a slight constitu- tional leaning towards superstition and omens showed that the sense of devotion was, however, alive and awake within him ; but with him religion was a sentiment, and the convictions of the understanding had nothing whatever to do with his creed. That he was deeply imbued with the essence of natural piety ; that he often felt the power and being of a God thrill- ing in all his frame, and glowing in his bosom, I declare my thorough persuasion ; and that he believed in some of the tenets and in the philosophy of Christianity, as they influence the spirit and conduct of men, I am as little disposed to doubt; especially if those portions of his works which only trend towards the subject, and which bear the impression of fervour and earnestness, may be admitted as evidence. But he was not a member of any particular church, and, without a re-construction of his mind and tempera- ment, I venture to say, he could not have become such ; not in consequence, as too many have represented, of any predilection, either of feeling or principle, against Christianity ; but, entirely owing to an organic pecu- liarity of mind. He reasoned on every topic by in- stinct, rather than by induction or any process of logic ; and could never be so convinced of the truth or false- hood of an abstract proposition, as to feel it affect the current of his actions. He may have assented to ar- 280 THE LIFE OF guments, without being sensible of their truth; merely because they were not objectionable to his feelings at the time. And, in the same manner, he may have disputed even fair inferences, from admitted premises, if the state of his feelings happened to be indisposed to the subject. I am persuaded, nevertheless, that to class him among absolute infidels were to do injustice to jhis memory, and that he has suffered uncharitably in the opinion of " the rigidly righteous," who, because he- had not attached himself to any particular sect or congregation, assumed that he was an adversary to religion. To claim for him any credit, as a pious man, would be absurd; but, to suppose he had not as deep an interest as other men, " in his soul's health" and welfare, was to impute to him a na- ture which cannot exist. Being, altogether, a crea- ture of impulses, he certainly could not be ever em- ployed in doxologies, or engaged in the logomachy of churchmen ; but he had the sentiment which at a tamer age might have made him more ecclesiastical. There was as much truth as joke in the expression, when he wrote I am myself a moderate Presbyterian. A mind, constituted like that of Lord Byron, was little susceptible of impressions from the arguments of ordinary men. It was necessary that Truth, in visiting him, should come arrayed in her solemnities, and with Awe anl Reverence for her precursors. Acknow- ledged superiority, yea, celebrated wisdom, were in- dispensable, to bespeak his sincere attention; and, without disparagement, it may be fairly said, these were not the attributes of Dr. Kennedy. On the con- trary, there was a taint of cant about him — perhaps he only acted like those who have it — but, still he was not exactly the dignitary to command unaffected de- ference from the shrewd and irreverent author of Don LORD BYROtf, 281 Juan. The result verified what ought to have been the anticipation. The doctor's attempt to quicken Byron to a sense of grace, failed ; but his Lordship treated him with politeness. The history of the affair will, however, be more interesting than any reflections which it is m my humble power to offer. Some of Dr. Kennedy's acquaintances wished to hear him explain, in "a logical and demonstrative manner, the evidences and doctrines of Christianity ;" and Lord Byron, hearing of the intended meeting, desired to be present, and was accordingly invited. He attended ; but was not present at several others which followed ; he however intimated to the Doctor, that he would be glad to converse with him, and the invitation was accepted. " On religion," says the Doctor, " his Lordship was in general a hearer, pro- posing his difficulties and objections with more fair- ness than could have been expected from one under similar circumstances ; and with so much candour, that they often seemed to be proposed more for the purpose of procuring information, or satisfactory an- swers, than from any other motive." At the first meeting, Dr. Kennedy explained, be- comingly, his views of the subject, and that he had read every work against Christianity which fell in his way. It was this consideration which had induced him with such confidence to enter upon the discussion, knowing, on the one hand, the strength of Christianity, and, on the other, the weakness of its assailants. " To show you, therefore," said the Doctor, " the grounds on which I demand your attention to what I may say on the nature and evidence of Christianity, I shall mention the names of some of the authors whose works I have read or consulted." When he had men- tioned all these names, Lord Byron asked if he had read Barrow's and Stillingfleet's works ? The Doctor replied, " I have seen them, but I have not read them," 282 THE LIFE OF After a disquisition, chiefly relative to the history of Christianity, Dr. Kennedy observed, " We must, on all occasions, but more particularly in fair and logical discussions with sceptics, or Deists, make a distinc- tion between Christianity, as it is found in the Scrip- tures, and the errors, abuses, and imperfections of Christians themselves. To this his Lordship remarked, that he always had taken care to make that distinc- tion, as he knew enough of Christianity to feel that it was both necessary and just. The Doctor remarked that the contrary was almost universally the case with those who doubted or denied the truth of Christianity, and proceeded to illustrate the statement. He then read a summary of the fundamental doctrines of Christianity ; but he had not proceeded far, when he observed signs of impatience in Lord Byron, who inquired if these sentiments accorded with the Doc- tor's ? and being answered they did, and with those of all sound Christians, except in one or two minor things, his Lordship rejoined, that he did not wish to hear the opinions of others, whose writings he could read at any time, but only his own. The Doctor then read on till coming to the expression " grace of God," his Lordship inquired, " what do you mean by grace ?" " The primary and fundamental meaning of the word," replied the Doctor, somewhat surprised at his igno- rance (I quote his own language), " is favour ; though it varies according to the context to express that dis- position of God, which leads him to grant a favour, the action of doing so, or the favour itself, or its effects on those who receive it." The arrogance of the use of the term ignorance here, requires no animadversion ; but to suppose the greatest master, then in existence, of the English language, not acquainted with the meaning of the word, when he asked to be informed of the meaning attached to it by the individual making use of it, gives us some insight into the true character of the teacher. The Doctor closed the book ? as he LORD BYRON. 283 perceived that Lord Byron, as he says, had no distinct conception of many of the words used ; and his Lord- ship subjoined, " What we want is to be convinced that the Bible is true ; because if we can believe that, it will follow as a matter of course, that we must believe all the doctrines it contains." The reply to this was to the effect, that the observa- tion was partly just ; but though the strongest evi- dence were produced of the Scriptures being the reveal- ed will of God, they (his Lordship and others present) would still remain unbelievers, unless they knew and comprehended the doctrines contained in the Scrip- tures. This was not conclusive, and Lord Byron replied, that they wished him to prove that the Scrip- tures were the word of God, which the Doctor, with more than apostolic simplicity, said that such was his object, but he should like to know what they deemed the clearest course to follow with that object in view. After some further conversation — " No other plan was proposed by them," says the Doctor; and, he adds, if They had violated their engagement to hear me for twelve hours, for which I had stipulated." This may, perhaps, satisfy the reader as to the quality of the Doctor's understanding ; but as the subject in its bearings touches Lord Byron's character, I shall pro- ceed a little farther into the marrow of the matter. The inculcation being finished for that evening, Lord Byron said, that when he was young his mother brought him up strictly; and that he had access to a great many theological works, and remembered that he was particularly pleased with Barrow's writings, and that he also went regularly to church. He de- clared that he was not an infidel who denied the Scrip- tures and wished to remain in unbelief; on the con- trary, he was desirous to believe, as he experienced no happiness in having his religious opinions so un- steady and unfixed. But he could not, he added, understand the Scriptures, "Those people who con- 284 THE LIFE or scientiously believe, I always have respected, and was always disposed to trust in them more than in others." A desultory conversation then ensued, respecting the language and translations of the Scriptures ; in the course of which his Lordship remarked, that Scott, in his Commentary on the Bible, did not say that it was the devil who tempted Eve, nor does the Bible say a word about the devil. It is only said that the serpent spoke, and that it was the subtlest of all the beasts of the field. — Will it be said that truth and reason were served by Dr. Kennedy's* answer? "As beasts have not the faculty of speech, the just inference is, that the beast was only an instrument made use of by some invisible and superior being. The Scriptures accord- ingly tell us, that the devil is the father of lies — the lie made by the serpent to Eve being the first we have on record ; they call him also a murderer from the be- ginning, as he was the cause of the sentence of death which was pronounced against Adam and all his pos- terity ; and still further, to remove all doubt, and to indentify him as the agent who used the serpent as an instrument, he is called the serpent — the devil." Lord Byron inquired what the Doctor thought of the theory of Warburton, that the Jews had no dis- tinct idea of a future state ? The Doctor acknowledged that he had often seen, but had never read The Divine Legation. And yet, he added, had Warburton read his Bible with more simplicity and attention, he would have enjoyed a more solid and honourable fame. His Lordship then said, that one of the greatest difficulties he had met with was the existence of so ■ much pure and unmixed evil in the world, and which he could not reconcile to the idea of a benevolent Creator. The Doctor set aside the question as to the origin of evil ; but granted the extensive existence of * The Doctor evidently makes a mistake in confounding Sir William Hamilton with Sir William Drummond. LORD BYROW. 285 evil in the universe ; to remedy which, he said, the Gospel was proclaimed ; and, after some of the cus- tomary commonplaces, he ascribed much of the ex- isting evil to the slackness of Christians in ' spreading the Gospel. " Is there not," said his Lordship, " some part of the New Testament where it appears that the disciples were struck with the state of physical evil, and made inquiries into the cause?" — " There are two passages," was the reply. The disciples inquired, when they saw a man who had been born blind, whether it was owing to his own or his parents' sin ? — and, after quoting the other instance, he concludes, that moral and physical evil in individuals are not always a judg- ment or punishment, but are intended to answer^cer- tain ends in the government of the world. " Is there not," said his Lordship, " a prophecy in the New Testament which it is alleged has not been fulfilled, although it was declared that the end of the world would come before the generation then- exist- ing should pass away?" — " The prediction," said Dr. Kennedy, " related to the destruction of Jerusalem, which certainly took place within the time assigned ; though some of the expressions descriptive of the signs of that remarkable event are of such a nature as to appear to apply to Christ's coming to judge the world at the end of time." His Lordship then asked, if the doctor thought that there had been fewer wars and persecutions, and less slaughter and misery, in the world since the intro- duction of Christianity than before? The Doctor answered this by observing, that since Christianity inculcates peace and good-will to all men, we must always separate pure religion from the abuses of which its professors are guilty. Two other opinions were expressed by his Lordship in the conversation. The Doctor, in speaking of the sovereignty of God, had alluded to the similitude of 286 THE LIFE OP the potter and his clay; for his Lordship said, if he were broken in pieces, he would say to the potter, " Why do you treat me thus V The other was an absurdity. It was — if the whole world were going to hell, he would prefer going with them than go alone to heaven. Such was the result of the first council of Cephalonia, if one may venture the allusion. It is manifest, without saying much for Lord Byron's ingenuity, that he was fully a match for the Doctor, and that he was not unacquainted with the subject under discussion. In the next conversation Lord Byron repeated " I have no wish to reject Christianity without investiga- tion ; on the contrary, I am very desirous of believing. But I do not see very much the need of a Saviour, nor the utility of prayer. Devotion is the affection of the heart, and this I feel. When I view the wonders of creation, I bow to the Majesty of Heaven ; and when I feel the enjoyments of life, I feel grateful to God for having bestowed them upon me." Upon this some discussion arose, turning chiefly on the passage in the third chapter of John, " Unless a man is converted, he cannot enter the kingdom of Heaven;" which natu- rally led to an explanatory interlocutor concerning new birth, regeneration, &c. ; and thence diverged into the topics which had been the subject of the former conversation. Among other things, Lord Byron inquired, if the Doctor really thought that the devil appeared before God, as is mentioned in the book of Job, or is it only an allegorical or poetical mode of speaking ?" — The reply was, " I believe it in the strict and literal meaning." " If it be received in a literal sense," said his Lord- ship, " it gives me a much higher idea of the majesty, power, and "wisdom of God, to believe that the devils themselves are at his nod, and are subject to his con- trol, with as ffigjok ease as the elements of nature fol- LORD BtROtf. 2$7 low tKe respective laws which his will has assigned them." This notion was characteristic, and the poetica feeling in which it originated, when the Doctor at- tempted to explain the doctrine of the Manicheans, was still more distinctly developed ; for his Lordship again expressed how much the belief of the real ap- pearance of Satan, to hear and obey the commands of God, added to his views of the grandeur and majesty of the Creator. This second conversation was more desultory than the first ; religion was brought in only incidentally, until his Lordship said, " I do not reject the doctrines of Christianity ; I want only sufficient proofs of it, to take up the profession in earnest ; and J do not believe myself to be so bad a Christian as many of them who preach against me with the greatest fury — many of whom 1 have never seen nor injured." " You have only to examine the causes which pre- vent you" (from being a true believer), said the Doc- tor, " and you will find they are futile, and only tend to withhold you from the enjoyment of real happiness which at present it is impossible you can find." " What, then, you think me in a very bad way?" " I certainly think you are," was the reply; " and this I say, not on my own authority, but on that of the Scriptures. — -Your Lordship must be converted, and must be reformed, before any thing can be said of you, except that you are bad, and in a bad way." " But," replied his Lordship, " I already believe in predestination, which I know you believe, and in the depravity of the human heart in general, and o my own in particular ; thus you see there are twO points in which we agree. I shall get at the others by- and- by. You cannot expect me to become a perfect Christian at once." And further his Lordship subjoined : " Predestination appears to me just; from my 288 THE LIFE OF own reflection and experience, I am influenced in d way which is incomprehensible, and am led to do things which I never intended ; and if there is, ;is we all admit, a Supreme Ruler of the universe ; and if, as you say, he has the actions of the devils, as well as of his own angels, completely at his command, then those influences, or those arrangements of cir- cumstances, which lead us to do things against our will, or with ill-will, must be also under his directions. But I have never entered into the depths of the sub- ject; I have contented myself with believing that there is a predestination of events, and that predes- tination depends on the will of God." Dr. Kennedy, in speaking of this second conversa- tion, bears testimony to the respectfulness of his Lord- ship's attention. " There was nothing in his manner which approached to levity, or any thing that indi- cated a wish to mock at religion ; though, on the other hand, an able dissembler would have done and said all that he did, with such feelings and intentions. Subsequent to the second conversation, Dr. Ken- nedy asked a gentleman who was intimate with Lord Byron, if he really thought his Lordship serious in his desire to hear religion explained. " Has he exhi- bited any contempt or ridicule at what I have said ?" This gentleman assured him that he had never heard Byron allude to the subject in any way which could induce him to suspect that he was merely amusing himself. " But on the contrary, he always names you with respect. I do not, however, think you have made much impression on him ; he is just the same fellow as before. He says, he does not know what relio-ion you are of, for you neither adhere to creeds or councils." It ought here to be noticed, as showing the general opinion entertained of his Lordship with respect to these polemical conversations, that the wits of the garrison made themselves merry with what was going 10RD EYROft. 289 on. Some of them affected to believe, or did so, that Lord Byron's wish to hear Dr. Kennedy proceeded from a desire to have an accurate idea of the opinions and manners of the Methodists, in order that he might make Don Juan become one for a time, and so be enabled to paint their conduct with greater accuracy. The third conversation took place soon after this comment had been made on Lord Byron's conduct. The Doctor inquired if his Lordship had read any of the religious books he had sent. "I have looked," replied Byron, " into Boston's Fourfold State, but I have not had time to read it far : I am afraid it is too deep for me." Although there was no systematic design, on the part of Lord Byron, to make Dr. Kennedy subser- vient to any scheme of ridicule ; yet, it is evident that he was not so serious as the Doctor so meritoriously desired. " I have begun," said his Lordship, " very fairly; I have given some of your tracts to Fletcher (his valet) who is a good sort of man, but still wants, like myself, some reformation ; and I hope he will spread them among the other servants, who require it still more. Bruno, the physician, and Gamba, are busy, reading some of the Italian tracts; and, I hope it will have a good effect on them. The former is rather too de- cided against it at present ; and too much engaged with a spirit of enthusiasm for his own profession, to. attend to other subjects; but we must have pa- tience, and we shall see what has been the result. I do not fail to read, from time to time, my Bible, though not, perhaps, so much as I should." " Have you begun to pray that you may under- stand it?" " Not yet. I have not arrived at that pitch of faith yet ; but it may come by-and-by. You are in too great a hurry." His Lordship then went to a side-table, on which a 290 THE LIFE OF great number of books were ranged; and, taking hold of an octavo, gave it to the Doctor. It was " Illustrations of the Moral Government of God ;" by E. Smith, M. D., London. " The author," said he, " proves that the punishment of hell is not eternal ; it will have a termination." " The author," replied the Doctor, " is, I suppose, one of the Socinians; who, in a short time, will try to get rid of every doctrine in the Bible. How did your Lordship get hold of this book ? " " They sent it out to me from England, to make a convert of me, I suppose. The arguments are strong, drawn from the Bible itself; and, by showing that a time will come, when every intelligent creature shall be supremely happy, and eternally so, it expunges that shocking doctrine, that sin and misery will for ever exist under the government of God, whose highest attribute is love and goodness. To my present ap- prehension, it would be a most desirable thing, could it be proved that, alternately, all created beings were to be happy. This would appear to be most con- sistent with the nature of God. — I cannot yield to your doctrine of the eternal duration of punishment. — This author's opinion is more humane; and, I think, he supports it very strongly from Scripture." The fourth conversation was still more desultory, being carried on at table amidst company; in the course of it Lord Byron, however, declared "that he was so much of a believer as to be of opinion that there is no contradiction in the Scriptures, which cannot be reconciled by an attentive consideration and compari- son of passages." It is needless to remark that Lord Byron, in the course of these conversations, was incapable of pre- serving a consistent seriousness. The volatility of his humour was constantly leading him into playfulness, and he never lost an opportunity of making a pun or saying a quaint thing. "Do you know," said he to tORD BYU05f, 291 the Doctor, " 1 am nearly reconciled to St. Paul, for he says there is no difference between the Jews and the Greeks, and I am exactly of the same opinion, for the character of. both is equally vile." Upon the whole it must be conceded, that whatever was the degree of Lord Byron's dubiety as to points of faith and doctrine, he could not be accused of gross ignorance, nor described as animated by any hostile feeling against religion. In this sketch of these conversations, I have restrict- ed myself chiefly to those points which related to his Lordship's own sentiments and belief. It would have been inconsistent with the concise limits of this work to have detailed the controversies. A fair summary of what Byron did not believe, what he was disposed to believe but had not satisfied himself with the evi- dence, and what he did believe, seemed to be the task I ought to undertake. The result confirmed the state- ment of his Lordship's religious condition, given in the preliminary remarks ; which, I ought to mention, were written before I looked into Dr. Kennedy's book ; ,and the statement is not different from the estimate which the conversations warrant. It is true that Lord Byron's part in the conversations is not very- charac- teristic ; but the integrity of Dr. Kennedy is a suffi- cient assurance that they are substantially correct.* * Connected with this subject there is a letter in the Appen- .clix, from Fletcher to the Doctor, concerning- his master's reli- gious opinions, well worthy of preservation on its own account, as affording a tolerably fair specimen of what persons in his condition of life think of religion. I fear poor Dr. Kennedy must have thought of the proverb " like master like man." v2 '292 THE LIFE OF CHAPTER XLIV. Voyage to Cephalonia.— Letter.— Count Gamba's address.— Grateful feelings of the Turks.— Endeavours of Lord Eyron to mitigate the hor- rors of the war. Lord Byrox, after leaving Argostoli, on the 29th December, 1823, the port of Cephalonia, sailed for Zante, where he took on board a quantity of specie. Although the distance from Zante to Missolonghi is but a few hours' sail, the voyage was yet not without adventures. Missolonghi, as I have already mention- ed, was then blockaded by the Turks, and some address was necessary, on that account, to effect an entrance, independent of the difficulties, at all times, of na- vigating the canals which intersect the shallows. In the following letter to Colonel Stanhope, his Lordship gives an account of what took place. It is very cha- racteristic, I shall therefore quote it. " Scrofer, or some such name, on board a Cepha- loniate Mistice, Dec. 31, 1823. " My Dear Stanhope, " We are just arrived here — that is, part of my people and I, with some things, &c, and which it may be as well not to specify in a letter (which has a risk of being intercepted, perhaps) ; but Gamba and my horses, negro, steward, and the press, and all the committee things, also some eight thousand dol- lars of mine (but never mind, we have more left — do LORD BYRON. 293 you understand ?) are taken by the Turkish frigates ; and my party and myself, in another boat, have had a narrow escape last night (being close under their stern, and hailed, but we would not answer, and bore away) as well as this morning. Here we are, with sun and charming weather, within a pretty little port enough; but whether our Turkish friends may not send in their boats, and take us out (for we have no arms, except two carabines and some pistols, and, I suspect, not more than four fighting people on board), I is another question ; especially if we remain long here, since we are blocked out of Missolonghi by the direct entrance. You had better send my friend George Drake, and a body of Suliotes, to escort us by I land or by the canals, with all convenient speed. Gamba and our Bombard are taken into Patras, I i suppose, and we must take a turn at the Turks to get i them out. But where the devil is the fleet gone? the Greek, I mean — leaving us to get in without the least intimation to take heed that the Moslems were out again. Make my respects to Mavrocordato, and say that I am here at his disposal. I am uneasy at being here. We are very well. " Yours, &c. " N. B. " P.S. The Bombard was twelve miles out when taken; at least, so it appeared to us (if taken she actually be, for it is not certain), and we had to escape from another vessel that stood right in between us and the port." Colonel Stanhope on receiving this despatch, which was carried to him by two of Lord Byron's servants, sent two armed boats, and a company of Suliotes, to escort his Lordship to Missolonghi, where he arrived on the 5th of January, and was received with military honours, and the most enthusiastic demonstrations of popular joy. No mark of respect which the Greeks 294 THE LIFE OF could think of was omitted. The ships fired a salute as he passed. Prince Mavrocordato, and all the au- thorities, with the troops and the population, met him on his landing, and accompanied him to the house which had been prepared for him, amidst the shouts of the multitude and the discharge of cannon. In the mean time Count Gamba and his companions being taken before YusufT Pashaw at Patras, expected to share the fate of certain unfortunate prisoners whom that stern chief had sacrificed the preceding year at Prevesa; and their fears would probably have been realized but for the intrepid presence of mind dis- played by the Count, who, assuming a haughty style, accused the Ottoman captain of the frigate of a breach of neutrality, in detaining a vessel under English co- lours, and concluded by telling the pashaw that he might expect the vengeance of the British government in thus interrupting a nobleman who was merely on his travels, and bound to Calamata. Perhaps, how- ever, another circumstance had quite as much influ- ence with the pashaw as this bravery. In the master of the vessel he recognised a person who had saved his life in the Black Sea fifteen years before, and in consequence not only consented to the vessel's re- lease, but treated the whole of the passengers with the utmost attention, and even urged them to take a day's shooting in the neighbourhood.* * To the honour of the Turks, grateful recollections of this kind are not rare among them : I experienced a remarkable ex- ample of it myself. Having entered Widin when it was he- sieged hy the Russians, in the winter of 1810 — 11, I was closely questioned as to the motives of my visit, by Hassan Pashaw, the successor of the celebrated Paswan Oglou, then governor of the fortress. I explained to him, frankly, the motives of my visit, but he required that I should deliver my letters and papers to be examined. This I refused to do, unless he had a person who could read English, and understand it when spoken. In the mean time my Tartar, the better to prove our innocence of all sinister purposes, turned out the contents of his saddle-bags, and behold, among several letters and parcels wa§ a packet for LORD BYllOST. 295 The first measures which his Lordship attempted after his arrival, was to mitigate the ferocity with which the war was carried on; one of the objects, as he explained to my friend who visited him at Genoa, which induced him to embark in the cause. And it happened that the very day he reached the town, was signalized by his rescuing a Turk who had fallen into the hands of some Greek sailors. This man was clothed by his Lordship's orders, and sent over to Patras ; and soon after Count Gamba's release, hear- ing that four other Turks were prisoners in Misso- longhi, he requested that they might be placed in his hands, which was immediately granted. These he also sent to Patras, with the letter, of which a copy is Prince Italinski, from the French minister at Constantinople. This I of course instantly ordered to be delivered to the pashaw. In the evening, an old Turk who had been present during the proceedings, and at the subsequent consultations as to what should be done with me, called, and advised me to leave the town ; telling me at the same time, that when he was a boy he had been taken prisoner by the Hungarians at Belgrade, and had been so kindly treated, that after being sent home he had never ceased to long for an opportunity of repaying that kindness to some other Frank, and that he thought my case afForded an op- portunity. He concluded by offering me the use of twenty thou- sand piastres, about a thousand pounds sterling, to take me across the continent to England. I was then on my way to Or- sova, to meet a gentleman from Vienna, but being informed that he would not be there, I resolved to return to Constantinople, and accordingly accepted from the Turk so much money as would serve for the expenses of the journey, giving him an order for repayment on an agent whose name he had never heard of, nor any one probably in the town. The Avhole adventure was curious, and ought to be mentioned, as affording a favourable view of Ottoman magnanimity. The pashaw was so well pleased with the manner in which I had acted in the affair of the despatches, that he sent me notice in the morning that horses and a guard were at my command so long as I chose to remain in the fortress, and that he had for- warded the packet unbroken to the Russian commander ; he even permitted me, in the course of the afternoon, to visit the Russian encampment on the other side the Danube, which I accordingly did, and returned across the river in the evening. \ 296 THE LIFE OP in the Appendix, addressed to YusufT, expressing his hope that the prisoners thenceforward taken on both sides would be treated with humanity. This act was followed by another equally praiseworthy. A Greek cruiser having captured a Turkish boat, in which there was a number of passengers, chiefly women and children, they were also placed at the disposal of his Lordship, at his particular request. Captain Parry has given a description of the scene between Lord Byron, and that multitude of mothers and children, too interesting to be omitted here. " I was sum- moned to attend him, and receive his orders that every thing should be done which might contribute to their comfort. He was seated on a cushion at the upper end of the room, the women and children were standing before him with their eyes fixed steadily on him ; and, on his right hand was his interpreter, who was extracting from the women a narrative of their sufferings. One of them, apparently about thirty years of age, possessing great vivacity, and whose manners and dress, though she was then dirty and disfigured, indicated that she was superior in rank and condition to her companions, was spokeswoman for the whole. I admired the good order the others preserved, never interfering with the explanation, or interrupting the single speaker. I also admired the rapid manner in which the interpreter explained every thing they said, so as to make it almost appear that there was but one speaker. After a short time it was evident that what Lord Byron was hearing affected his feelings ; his countenance changed, his colour went and came, and I thought he was ready to weep. But he had, on all occasions, a ready and peculiar knack in turning conversation from any disagreeable or un- pleasant subject; and he had recourse to this ex- pedient. He rose up suddenly, and, turning round on his heel as was his wont, he said something to his interpreter, who immediately repeated it to the women. LOUD BYRON. 297 All eyes were immediately fixed on me ; and one of the party, a young and beautiful woman, spoke very warmly. Lord Byron seemed satisfied, and said they might retire. The women all slipped ofF their shoes in an instant, and, going up to his Lordship, each in succession, accompanied by their children, kissed his hand fervently, invoked, in the Turkish manner, a blessing, both on his hand and heart, and then quitted the room. This was too much for Lord Byron, and he turned his face away to conceal his emotion." A vessel was then hired, and the whole of them, to the number of twenty-four, were sent to Prevesa, pro- vided with every requisite for their comfort during the passage. These instances of humanity excited a sym- pathy among the Turks. The Governor of Prevesa thanked his Lordship, and assured him that he would take care that equal attention should be in future paid to the Greeks, who might fall into his hands. 298 THE LIFE OF CHAPTER XLV. Proceedings at Missolonghi. — Byron's Suliote brigade.— Their insubor- dination. — Difference with Colonel Stanhope. — Imbecility of the plans for the independence of Greece. The arrival of Lord Byron at Missolonghi, was not only hailed as a new era in the history of Greece, but as the beginning of a new cycle in his own extraor- dinary life. His natural indolence disappeared ; the Sardanapalian sloth was thrown off, and he took a station in the van of her efforts that bespoke heroic achievement. After paying the fleet, which indeed had only come out in the expectation of receiving the arrears from the loan he had promised to Mavrocordato, he resolved to form a brigade of Suliotes. Five hundred of the re- mains of Marco Botzari's gallant followers were accord- ingly taken into his pay. " He burns with military ardour and chivalry," says Colonel Stanhope, " and will proceed with the expedition to Lepanto." But the expedition was delayed by causes which ought to have been foreseen. The Suliotes, conceiving that in his Lordship they had found a patron, whose wealth and generosity were equally boundless, refused to quit Missolonghi till their arrears were paid. Savage in the field, and un- tameable in the city, they became insubordinate and mercenary ; nor was their conduct without excuse. They had long defended the town with untired bravery; LORD BYRON. 299 their families had been driven into it in the most des- titute condition ; and all the hopes that had led them to take up arms, were still distant, and pro- spective. Besides, Mavrocordato, unlike the other Grecian captains, having no troops of his own, affected to regard these mercenaries as allies, and was indulgent to their excesses. The town was overawed by their turbulence ; conflicts took place in the street ; riot and controversy every where prevailed, and blood was shed. Lord Byron's undisciplined spirit could ill brook delay ; he partook of the general vehemence, and lost the power of discerning the comparative importance both of measures and things. He was out of his ele- ment ; confusion thickened around him ; his irritability grew passion ; and there was the rush and haste, the oblivion and alarm of fatality in all he undertook and suggested. One day, a party of German adventurers reached the fortress so demoralized by hardships, that few of them were fit for service. It was intended to form a corps of artillery, and these men were destined for that branch of the service ; but their condition was such, that Stanhope doubted the practicability of carrying the measure into effect at that time. He had promised to contribute 'a hundred pounds to their equipment. Byron attributed the Colonel's objections to reluctance to pay the money ; and threatened him, if it were refused, with a punishment, new in Grcian war — to libel him in the Greek Chronicle ! a newspaper which Stanhope had recently established. It is, however, not easy to give a correct view of the state of affairs at that epoch in Missolonghi. All parties seem to have been deplorably incompetent to understand the circumstances in which they were placed ; — the condition of the Greeks, and that their exigencies required only physical and military means- 300 THE LIFE OE They talked of newspapers, and types,* and libels, as if the moral instruments of civil exhortation were adequate to wrench the independence of Greece from the bloody grasp of the Ottoman. No wonder that Byron, accustomed to the management only of his own fancies, was fluttered amidst the conflicts of such riot and controversy. His situation at this period, was indeed calculated to inspire pity. Had he survived, it might, instead of awakening the derision of history, have supplied to himself materials for another canto of Don Juan. I shall select one instance of his afflictions. The captain of a British gun-brig came to Misso- longhi to demand an equivalent for an Ionian boat, * It is amusing to see what a piece of insane work was made about the printing press. " The press will be at work next Monday. Its first produc- tion will be a prospectus. On tbe first day of the year 1824, the Greek Chronicle will be issued. — It will be printed in Greek and Italian ; it will come out twice a-week. Pray endeavour to as- sist its circulation in England. (!) I hope to establish presses in other parts." — 18th December, 1823. Page 46. " Your agent has now been at Missolonghi one week ; during that period a free press has been established." — 20th December^ 1823. Page 50. " The press is not yet in. motion ; I will explain to you the^ cause." — 23d December, 1823. Page 54. "The Greek Chronicle published with a passage from Ben tham on the liberty of the press." — 2d Januaiy, 1824. Page 63. " The English Committee has sent hither several presses, for the purpose of spreading the light of the nineteenth cen- tury." 1 — 7th January, 1824. Page 74. " The press is exciting general interest — all our party are working for it ; some translate, and some write original articles. As yet we have not a compositor to arrange our Italian types." —7th January, 1824. Page 82. " I have no one to work the lithographic press." — 7th Fe- bruary, 1824. Page 108. " I am going to take the three presses round to theMorea." —11th February, 1824. Page 112. These extracts will help the reader to form some idea of the inordinate attention which was paid to " the press," as an engine of war against the Turks ; but the following extract is LORD BYRON*. 30 1 which had been taken in the act of going out of the Gulf of Lepanto, with provisions and arms. The Greek fleet at that time blockading the port consisted of five brigs, and the Turks had fourteen vessels of war in the gulf. The captain maintained that the British government recognised no blockade which was not efficient, and that the efficiency depended on the numerical superiority of cannon. On this principle he demanded restitution of the property. Mavro- cordato offered to submit the case to the decision of the British government, but the captain would only give him four hours to consider. The indemnification was granted. Lord Byron conducted the business in behalf of the captain. In the evening, conversing with Stanhope more immediately applicable to my object in noticing the thing so contemptuously : " Your Lordship stated, yesterday evening, that you had said to Prince Mavrocordato, that ' were you in his place, you would have placed the press under a censor ;' and that he replied, ' No, the liberty of the press is guaranteed by the constitution.' Now, I wish to know whether your Lordship was serious when you made the observation, or whether you only said so to provoke "te. If your Lordship was serious, I shall consider it my duty b communicate this affair to the Committee in England, in >rder to show them how difficult a task I have to fulfil, in pro- moting the liberties of Greece,, if your Lordship is to throw the ./eight of your vast talents into the opposite scale in a question of such vital importance.' " After Lord Byron had read this paper, he said that he was an ardent friend of publicity and the press ; but he feared it was not applicable to this Society in its pi-esent combustible state. I answered, that I thought it applicable to all countries, and es- sential here in order to put an end to the state of anarchy which at present prevailed. Lord Byron feared libels and licentious- ness. I said that the object of a free press was to check public licentiousness, and to expose libellers to odium, &c. &c." — 24th January, 1824. Page 91. These extracts are made from the Hon. Colonel Stanhope's Letters on the Greek Revolution. It is impossible to read them without being impressed with the benevolent intentions of the Colonel. But O Cervantes ! truly thou didst lose a hand at Le- panto, when Byron died in the expedition against it. 302 THE IIFfi OF on the subject, the colonel said the affair was con- ducted in a bullying manner. His Lordship started into a passion, and contended, that law, justice, and equity had nothing to do with politics. " That may be," replied Stanhope, " but I will never lend myself to injustice. " His Lordship then began to attack Jeremy Bentham. The colonel complained of such illiberality, as to make personal attacks on that gentleman before a friend who held him in high estimation. " I only attack his public principles," replied By- ron, " which are mere, theories, but dangerous, — inju- rious to Spain, and calculated to do great mischief in Greece." Stanhope vindicated Bentham, and said, " He pos- sesses a truly British heart ; but your Lordship, after professing liberal principles from boyhood, have, when called upon to act, proved yourself a Turk." " What proofs have you of this?" " Your conduct in endeavouring to crush the press by declaiming against it to Mavrocordato, and your general abuse of liberal principles." " If I had held up my finger," retorted his Lordship, " I could have crushed the press." " With all this power," said Stanhope, " which by the way you never possessed, you went to the prince, and poisoned his ear." Lord Byron then disclaimed against the liberals. 11 What liberals?" cried Stanhope. " Did you borrow your notions of freemen from the Italians ?" " No : from the Hunts, Cartwrights and such." " And yet your Lordship presented Cartwright's Reform Bill, and aided Hunt by praising his poetry and giving him the sale of your works." " You are worse than Wilson," exclaimed Byron, " and should quit the army." " I am a mere soldier," replied Stanhope, " but never will I abandon my principles. Our principles LORD BYHOtf. % 503 are diametrically opposite, so let us avoid the subject. If Lord Byron acts up to his professions, he will be the greatest, if not, the meanest of mankind." " My character," said his Lordship, " I hope, does not depend on your assertions." " No : your genius has immortalized you. The worst will not deprive you of fame." Lord Byron then rejoined, " Well ; you shall see : judge of me by my acts." And, bidding the colonel good night, who took up the light to conduct him to the passage, he added, " What! hold up a light to a Turk!" ' Such were the Franklins, the Washingtons, and the Hamiltons who undertook the regeneration of Greece. 304 THE LIFE or CHAPTER XLVL Lord Byron appointed to the command of three thousand men to besiege Lepanto. — The siege abandoned for a blockade. — Advanced guard or- dered to proceed. — Lord Byron's first illness. — A riot. — He is urged to leave Greece. — The expedition against Lepanto abandoned. — Byron dejected. — A wild diplomatic scheme. Three days after the conversation related in the preceding chapter, Byron was officially placed in the command of about three thousand men, destined for the attack on Lepanto ; but the Suliotes remained refractory, and refused to quit their quarters; his Lordship, however, employed an argument which proved effectual. He told them that if they did not obey his commands, he would discharge them from his service. But the impediments were not to be surmounted ; in less than a week it was formally reported to Byron that Missolonghi could not furnish the means of un- dertaking the siege of Lepanto, upon which his Lord- ship proposed that Lepanto should be only blockaded by two thousand men. Before any actual step was, however, taken, two spies came in with a report that the Albanians in garrison at Lepanto had seized the citadel, and were determined to surrender it to his Lordship. Still the expedition lingered ; at last, on the 14th of February, six weeks after Byron's arrival >at Missolonghi, it was determined that an advanced guard of three hundred soldiers, under the command of Count Gamba, should march for Lepanto, and that LORD BYROX. 305 Lord Byron, with the main body, should follow. The Suliotes were, however, still exorbitant, calling for fresh contributions for themselves and their families. His troubles were increasing, and every new rush of the angry tide rose nearer and nearer his heart; still his fortitude enabled him to preserve an outward show of equanimity. But, on the very day after the deter- mination had been adopted, to send forward the ad- vanced guard, his constitution gave way. He was sitting in Colonel Stanhope's room, talking jestingly, according to his wonted manner, with Cap- tain Parry, when his eyes and forehead occasionally discovered that he was agitated by strong feelings. On a sudden he complained of weakness in one of his legs ; he rose, but finding himself unable to walk, called for assistance ; he then fell into a violent ner- vous convulsion, and was placed upon a bed : while the fit lasted, his face was hideously distorted ; but in the course of a few minutes the convulsion ceased, and he began to recover his senses : his speech returned, and he soon rose, apparently well. During the struggle his strength was preternaturally augmented, and when it was over, he behaved with his usual firmness. " I conceive," says Colonel Stan- hope, " that this fit was occasioned by over-excite- ment. The mind of Byron is like a volcano ; it is full of fire, wrath, and combustibles, and when this matter comes to be strongly agitated, the explosion is dread- ful. With respect to the causes which produced this excess of feeling, they are beyond my reach, except one great cause, the provoking conduct of the Suliotes." A few days after this distressing incident, a new occurrence arose, which materially disturbed the tran- quillity of Byron. A Suliote, accompanied by the son, a little boy, of Marco Botzaris, with another man, walked into the Seraglio, a kind of citadel, which had been used as a barrack for the Suliotes, and out of 306 THE LIFE or which they had been ejected with difficulty, when it was required for the reception of stores and the esta- blishment of a laboratory. The sentinel ordered them back, but the Suliote advanced. The sergeant of the guard, a German, pushed him back. The Suliote struck the sergeant; they closed and struggled. The Suliote drew his pistol ; the German wrenched it from him, and emptied the pan. At this moment a Swedish adventurer, Captain Sass, seeing the quarrel, ordered the Suliote to be taken to the guard-room. The Su- liote would have departed, but the German still held him. The Swede drew his sabre ; the Suliote his other pistol. The Swede struck him with the flat of his sword; the Suliote unsheathed his ataghan, and nearly cut off the left arm of his antagonist, and then shot him through the head. The other Suliotes would not deliver up their comrade, for he was celebrated among them for distinguished bravery. The workmen in. the laboratory refused to work : they required to be sent home to England, declaring, they had come out to labour peaceably, and not to be exposed to assassination. These untoward occurrences deeply vexed Byron, and there was no mind of sufficient energy with him to control the increasing disorders. But though convinced, as indeed he had been per- suaded from the beginning in his own mind, that he could not render any assistance to the cause beyond mitigating the ferocious spirit in which the war was conducted, his pride and honour would not allow him to quit Greece. In a letter written soon after his first attack, he says, "I am a good deal better, though of course weakly. The leeches took too much blood from my temples the day after, and there was some difficulty in stopping it ; but I have been up daily, and out in boats or on horseback. To-day I have taken a warm bath, and live as temperately as can well be, without any liquid but water, and without any animal food ; " then ad- LORD BYRON. 307 verting to the turbulences of the Suliotes, he adds, " but I still hope better things, and will stand by the cause as long as my health and circumstances will permit me to be supposed useful." Subsequently, when pressed to leave the marshy and deleterious air of Missolonghi, he replied still more forcibly, " I cannot quit Greece while there is a chance of my being of (even supposed) utility. There is a stake worth millions such as I am, and while I can stand at all I must stand by the cause. While I say this, I am aware of the difficulties, and dissensions, and defects of the Greeks themselves ; but allowance must be made for them by all reasonable people." After this attack of epilepsy Lord Byron became disinclined to pursue his scheme against Lepanto. Indeed it may be said that in his circumstances it was impracticable ; for although the Suliotes repented of their insubordination, they yet had an objection to the service, and said " they would not fight against stone walls." All thought of the expedition was in consequence abandoned, and the destinies of poor Byron were hastening to their consummation. He began to complain ! In speaking to Parry one day of the Greek Commit- tee in London, he said, " I have been grossly ill-treated by the Committee. In Italy Mr. Blaquiere, their agent, informed me that every requisite supply would be for- warded with all despatch. I was disposed to come to Greece, but I hastened my departure in consequence of earnest solicitations. No time was to be lost, I was told, and Mr. Blaquiere, instead of waiting on me at his return from Greece, left a paltry note, which gave me no information whatever. If ever I meet with him, I shall not fail to mention my surprise at his conduct ; but it has been all of a piece. I wish the acting Com- mittee had had some of the trouble which has fallen on me since my arrival here : they would have been more prompt in their proceedings, and would have known x 2 308 THE LIFE OF "better what the country stood in need of. They would not have delayed the supplies a day, nor have sent out German officers, poor fellows, to starve at Missolonghi, but for my assistance. I am a plain man, and cannot comprehend the use of printing-presses to a people who do not read. Here the Committee have sent sup- plies of maps. I suppose that I may teach the young mountaineers geography. Here are bugle-horns with- out bugle-men, and it is a chance if we can find any body in Greece to blow them. Books are sent to people who want guns ; they ask for swords, and the Committee give them the lever of a printing-press." " My future intentions," continued his Lordship, " as to Greece, may be explained in a few words. I will remain here until she is secure against the Turks, or till she has fallen under their power. All my income shall be spent in her service ; but, unless driven by some great necessity, I will not touch a farthing of the sum intended for my sister's children. Whatever I can accomplish with my income, and my personal exertions, shall be cheerfully done. When Greece is secure against external enemies, I will leave the Greeks to settle their government as they like. One service more, and an eminent service it will be, I think I may perform for them. You, Parry, shall have a schooner built for me, or I will buy a vessel ; the Greeks shall invest me with the character of their ambassador, or agent : I will go to the United States, and procure that free and enlightened government to set the ex- ample of recognising the federation of Greece as an independent state. This done, England must follow the example, and then the fate of Greece will be per- manently fixed, and she will enter into all her rights as a member of the great commonwealth of Christian Europe/' This intention will, to all who have ever looked at the effects of fortune on individuals, sufficiently show that Byron's part in the world was nearly done. Had LOUD BYROtf. 309 he lived, and recovered health, it might have proved that he was then only in another lunation : his first was when he passed from poesy to heroism. But as it was, it has only served to show that his mind had suffered by the decadency of his circumstances, and how much the idea of self-exaltation weakly entered into all his plans. The business was secondary to the style in which it should be performed. Building- a vessel ! why think of the conveyance at all ? as if the means of going to America were so scarce that there might be difficulty in finding them. But his mind was passing from him. The intention was unsound— a fantasy — a dream of bravery in old age — begotten of the erroneous supposition that the cabinets of Chris- tendom would remain unconcerned spectators of the triumph of the Greeks, or even of any very long pro- crastination of their struggle. 310 THE LIFE Of CHAPTER XLVII. The last illness and death of Lord Byron.— His last poem. Although in common parlance it may be said, that after the attack of epilepsy Lord Byron's general health did not appear to have been essentially impaired, the appearance was fallacious; his constitution had received a vital shock, and the exciting- causes, vex- ation and confusion, continued to exasperate his irri- tation. On the 1st of March he complained of frequent vertigos, which made him feel as though he were in- toxicated ; but no effectual means were taken to re- move these portentous symptoms ; and he regularly enjoyed his daily exercise, sometimes in boats, but oftener on horseback. His physician thought him con- valescent : his mind, however, was in constant excite- ment ; it rested not even during sleep. On the 9th of April, while sailing, he was over- taken by the rain, and got very wet: on his return home, he changed the whole of his dress ; but he had been too long in his wet clothes, and the stamina of liis constitution being shaken, could not withstand the effects. In little more than two hours he was seized with rigors, fever, and rheumatic pains. Dur- ng the night, however, he slept in his accustomed manner, but in the morning he complained of pains and headach; still this did not prevent him from tOllt) BYROtf. 311 going out on horseback in the afternoon — it was for the last time. On returning home, he observed to one of the ser- vants, that the saddle was not perfectly dry, from hav- ing been so wet the day before, and that he thought it had made him worse. He soon after became affected with almost constant shivering ; sudorific medicines were administered, and blood-letting proposed ; but, though he took the drugs, he objected to the bleeding. Another physician was in consequence called in to see if the rheumatic fever could be appeased without the loss of blood. This doctor approved of the medicines prescribed, and was not opposed to the opinion that bleeding was necessary, but said it might be deferred till the next day. On the 1 1th he seemed rather better, but the medi- cines had produced no effect. On the 12th he was confined to bed with fever, and his illness appeared to be increasing ; he was very low, and complained of not having had any sleep during the night; but the medical gentlemen saw no cause for alarm. Dr. Bruno, his own physician, again proposed bleeding; the stranger still, however, thought it might be deferred, and Byron himself was opposed to it. " You will die," said Dr. Bruno, " if you do not allow yourself to be bled." " You wish to get the reputation of curing my disease," replied his Lordship, " that is why you tell me it is so serious ; but I will not permit you to bleed me." On the 13th he sat up for some time, after a sleep- less night, and still complained of pain in his bones and head. On the 14th he also left his bed. The fever was less, but the debility greater, and the pain in his head was undiminished. His valet became alarmed, and, doubtful of the skill of the doctors around him, en- treated permission to send to Zante for an English physician of greater reputation. His Lordship desired 312 THE LIFE OF him to consult the others, which he did, and they told him there was no occasion to call in any person, as they hoped all would be well in a few days. His Lordship now began to doubt if his disease was understood, and remarked repeatedly in the course of this day, that he was sure the doctors did not under- stand it. " Then, my Lord," said Fletcher, his valet, " have other advice/' " They tell me," rejoined his Lordship, " that it is only a common cold, which you know I have had a thousand times." " I am sure you never had one of so serious a nature." " I think I never had." Fletcher then went again to the physicians, and repeated his solicitations that the doctor in Zante might be sent for, but was again assured that his master would be better in two or three days. At length the doctor, who had too easily consented to the postponement of the bleeding, seeing the prog- nostications of Dr. Bruno more and more confirmed, urged the necessity of bleeding, and of no longer de- lay. This convinced Byron, who was himself greatly averse to the operation, that they did not understand his case. On the 15th his Lordship felt the pains abated, in- somuch that he was able to transact some business. On the 16th he wrote a letter, but towards the evening he became worse, and a pound of blood was taken from him. Still the disease was making pro- gress, but Dr. Bruno did not yet seem much alarmed ; on the contrary, he thought were more blood removed his recovery was certain. Fletcher immediately told his master, urging him to comply with the doctor's wishes. " I fear," said his Lordship, " they know nothing about my disorder, but" — and he stretched out his arm — " here, take my arm, and do whatever you like." On the 1 7th his countenance was changed ; during LORD BYROtf. 313 the night he had become weaker, and a slight degree of delirium, in which he raved of fighting, had come on. In the course of the day he was bled twice ; in the morning, and at two in the afternoon. The bleed- ing, on both occasions, was followed by fainting fits. On this day he said to Fletcher, " I cannot sleep, and you well know I have not been able to sleep for more than a week. I know that a man can only be a cer- tain time without sleep, and then he must go mad, without any one being able to save him ; and I would ten times sooner shoot myself than be mad, for I am not afraid of dying — I am more fit to die, than people think. " On the 18th his Lordship first began to dread that his fate was inevitable. " I fear," said he to Fletcher, " you and Tita will be ill by sitting up constantly, night and day;" and he appeared much dissatisfied with his medical treatment. Fletcher again entreated permission to send for Dr. Thomas, at Zante: "Do so, but be quick," said his Lordship, " I am sorry I did not let you do so before, as I am sure they have mis- taken my disease; write yourself, for I know they would not like to see other doctors here." Not a moment was lost in executing the order, and on Fletcher informing the doctors what he had done, they said it was right, as 'they now began to be afraid themselves. "Have you sent?" said his Lordship, when Fletcher returned to him — " I have, my Lord." " You have done well, for I should like to know what is the matter with me." From that time his Lordship grew every hour weaker and weaker ; and he had occasional flights of delirium. In the intervals he was, however, quite self- possessed, and said to Fletcher, " I now begin to think I am seriously ill ; and in case I should be taken off suddenly, I wish to give you several directions, which I hope you will be particular in seeing executed." Fletcher in reply expressed his hope that he would 314 THE LIFE OF live many years, and execute them himself. u No, it is now nearly over ; I must tell you all without losing a moment." " Shall I go, my Lord, and fetch pen, ink, and paper." " Oh my God ! no, you will lose too much time, and I have it not to spare, for my time is now short. Now pay attention — you will be provided for." " I beseech you, my Lord, to proceed with things of more consequence." His Lordship then added, " Oh, my poor dear child ! — my dear Ada! — My God ! could I have but seen her — give her my bless- ing — and my dear sister Augusta, and her children — and you will go to Lady Byron and say — tell her every thing — you are friends with her." He appeared to be greatly affected at this moment. His voice failed, and only words could be caught at intervals ; but he kept muttering something very se- riously for some time, and after raising his voice, said, " Fletcher, now if you do not execute every order which I have given you, I will torment you hereafter, if possible." This little speech is the last characteristic expres- sion which escaped from the dying man. He knew Fletcher's superstitious tendency, and it cannot be questioned that the threat was the last feeble flash of his prankfulness. The faithful valet replied in con- sternation that he had not understood one word of what his Lordship had been saying. " Oh ! my God !" was the reply, " then all is lost, for it is now too late ! Can it be possible you have not understood me !" "No, my Lord ; but I pray you to try and inform me once more." " How can I ? it is now too late, and all is over." " Not our will, but God's be done," said Fletcher, and his Lordship made another effort, saying, LORD BYROW. , 315 " Yes, not mine be done — but I will try" — and he made several attempts to speak, but could only repeat two or three words at a time ; such as " My wife ! my child — my sister — you know all — you must say all — -you know my wishes" The rest was unintelligible. A consultation with three other doctors, in addition to the two physicians in regular attendance, was now held ; and they appeared to think the disease was changing from inflammatory diathesis to languid; and ordered stimulants to be administered. Dr. Bruno opposed this with the greatest warmth; and pointed out that the symptoms were those, not of an alteration in the disease, but of a fever flying to the brain, which was violently attacked by it ; and, that the stimulants they proposed would kill more speedily than the disease itself. While, on the other hand, by copious bleeding, and the medicines that had been taken before, he might still be saved. The other physicians, however, Were of a different opinion ; and then Dr. Bruno declared he would risk no further respon- sibility. Peruvian bark and wine were then ad- ministered. After taking these stimulants, his Lord- ship expressed a wish to sleep. His last words were, " I must sleep now ;" and he composed himself ac- cordingly, but never awoke again. For four-and-twenty hours he continued in a state of lethargy, with the rattles occasionally in his throat. At six o'clock in the morning of the 19th, Fletcher, who was watching by his bed-side, saw him open his eyes and then shut them, apparently without pain or moving hand or foot. " My God f exclaimed the faithful valet, " I fear his Lordship is gone." The doctors felt his pulse — it was so. After life's fitful fever he sleeps well. But the fittest dirge is his own lay, written on the 316 THE LIFE OF day he completed his thirty-sixth year, soon after his arrival at Missolonghi, when his hopes of obtain- ing distinction in the Greek cause were, perhaps, brightest; and yet it breathes of dejection almost to boding. 'Tis time this heart should he unmoved Since others it has ceased to move, Yet though I cannot he heloved Still let me love. My days are in the yellow leaf, The flowers and fruits of love are gone, The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone. The fire that in my hosom preys Is like to some volcanic isle, No torch is kindled at its blaze — A funeral pile. The hope, the fears, the jealous care, Th' exalted portion of the pain, And power of love I cannot share, But wear the chain. But 'tis not here — it is not here — Such thoughts should shake my soul ; nor now Where glory seals the hero's bier, Or binds his brow. t The sword, the banner, and the field, Glory and Greece around us see ; t The Spartan borne upon his shield Was not more free. Awake ! not Greece —she is awake — Awake my spirit ! think through whom My life-blood tastes its parent lake, And then strike home 1 I tread reviving passions down, Unworthy manhood ! Unto thee Indifferent should the smile or frown Of beauty be. LORD BYRON. 317 If thou regrett'st thy youth, why live ? The land of honourable death Is here, up to the field and give Away thy breath. Seek out — less often sought than found — A soldiers grave — for thee the best, Then look around, and choose thy ground, And take thy rest. 318 THE LIFE OF CHAPTER XLVIII. The funeral preparations and final obsequies. The death of Lord Byron was felt by all Greece as a national misfortune. From the moment it was known that fears were entertained for his life, the progress of the disease was watched with the deepest anxiety and sorrow. On Easter Sunday, the day on which he expired, thousands of the inhabitants of Missolonghi had assembled on the spacious plain on the outside of the city, according to an ancient custom, to exchange the salutations of the morning ; but on this occasion it was remarked, that instead of the wonted congratu- lation, " Christ is risen," they inquired first " How is Lord Byron ?" On the event being made known, the Provisional Government assembled, and a proclamation, of which the following is a translation, was issued : " Provisional Government of Western Greece. " The day of festivity and rejoicing is turned into one of sorrow and mourning. " The Lord Noel Byron departed this life at eleven* o'clock last night, after an illness of ten days. Hia death was caused by an inflammatory fever. Such, was the effect of his Lordship's illness on the public mind, that all classes had forgotten their usual recreafl tions of Easter, even before the afflicting event was! apprehended. * Fletcher's Narrative implies at six that evening, the 19th April 1824. LORD BYRON. 319 " The loss of this illustrious individual is undoubt- edly to be deplored by all Greece ; but it must be more especially a subject of lamentation at Misso- longhi, where his generosity has been so conspicuously displayed, and of which he had become a citizen, with the ulterior determination of participating in all the dangers of the war. " Every body is acquainted with the beneficent acts of his Lordship, and none can cease to hail his name as that of a real benefactor. " Until, therefore, the final determination of the national Government be known, and by virtue of the powers with which it has been pleased to invest me, I hereby decree : " 1st. To-morrow morning, at daylight, thirty-seven minute-guns shall be fired from the grand battery, being the number which corresponds with the age of the illustrious deceased. " 2d. All the public offices, even to the tribunals, are to remain closed for three successive days. "3d. All the shops, except those in which provisions or medicines are f : id, will also be shut ; and it is strictly enjoined that every species of public amusement and other demonstrations of festivity at Easter may be suspended. " 4th. A general mourning will be observed for twenty-one days. 41 5th. Prayers and a funeral service are to be offered up in ail the churches. "A. MAVROCORDATOS. " Georgis Praidis, " Secretary. "Given at Missolonghi, this 19th day of April 1824." The funeral oration was written and delivered on the occasion, by Spiridion Tricoupi, and ordered by the government to be published. No token of respect that 320 THE LIFE 0"? reverence could suggest, or custom and religion sanc- tion, was omitted by the public authorities, nor by the people. Lord Byron having omitted to give directions for the disposal of his body, some difficulty arose about fixing the place of interment. But after being embalmed, it was sent, on the 2d of May, to Zante, where it was met by Lord Sidney Osborne, a relation of Lord Byron, by marriage — the secretary of the senate at Corfu. It was the wish of Lord Sidney Osborne, and others, that the interment should be in Zante ; but the Eng- lish opposed the proposition in the most decided manner. It was then suggested that it should be conveyed to Athens, and deposited in the temple of Theseus, or in the Parthenon — Ulysses Odysseus, the governor of Athens, having sent an express to Missolonghi, to solicit the remains for that city ; but, before it arrived, they were already in Zante, and a vessel engaged to carry them to London, in the ex- pectation that they would be deposited in Westminster Abbey or St. Paul's. On the 25th of May, the Florida left Zante with the body, which Colonel Stanhope accompanied ; and, on the 29th of June it reached the Downs. After the ship was cleared from quarantine, Mr. Hobhouse, with his Lordship's solicitor, received it from Colonel Stanhope, and, by their directions it was removed to the house of Sir E. Knatchbull, in Westminster, where it lay in state several days. The dignitaries of the Abbey and of St. Paul's having, as it was said, refused permission to deposit the remains in either of these great national receptacles of the illus- trious dead, it was determined that they should be laid in the ancestral vault of the Byrons. The funeral, instead of being public, was in consequence private, and attended by only a few select friends to Hucknell, a small village about two miles from Newstead Abbey, in the church of which the vault is situated ; there the LORD BYRON. 321 coffin was deposited, in conformity to a wish early- expressed by the poet, that his dust might be mingled with his mother's. Yet, unmeet and plain as the so- lemnity was in its circumstances, a remarkable inci- dent gave it interest and distinction: as it passed along the streets of London, a sailor was observed walking uncovered near the hearse, and on being asked what he was doing there, replied that he had served Lord Byron in the Levant and had come to pay his last respects to his remains; a simple but emphatic testimony to the sincerity of that regard which his Lordship often inspired, and which with more steadi- ness might always have commanded. The coffin bears the following inscription : Lord Byron, of Rochdale, Born in London, January 22, 1788 ; Died at Missolonghi, in Western Greece, April 19, 1824. Beside the coffin the urn is placed, the inscription on which is, Within this urn are deposited the heart, brains, fyc, of the deceased Lord Byron. 322 THE LIFE OP CHAPTER XLIX. The character of Lord Byron. My endeavour, in the foregoing pages, has been to give a general view of the intellectual character of Lord Byron ; with only the most influential incidents of his life,aud such occurrences as might make the book interesting It did not accord with this plan to enter minutely into the details of his private life, which I suspect was not greatly different from that of any other person of his rank, not distinguished for particular severity of manners, In some respects his Lordship was, no doubt, peculiar. He possessed a vivacity of sensibility not common, and talents of a very extraor- dinary k nd. He was also distinguished for superior personal elegance, particularly in his bust. The style and character of his head was universally admired ; but perhaps the "beauty of his physiognomy has been more highly spoken of than it really merited. Its chief grace consisted, when he was in a gay humour, of a liveliness which gave a joyous meaning to every articulation of the muscles and features : when he was less agreeably disposed, the expression was morose to a very repulsive degree. It is, however, unnecessary to describe his personal character here. I have already said enough, incidentally, to explain my full opinion of it. In the mass, I do not think it was calculated to attract much permanent affection or esteem. In the LORD BYRON. . 323 detail It was the reverse : few men possessed more companionable qualities than Lord Byron did occa- sionally ; and seen at intervals in those felicitous mo- ments, I imagine it would have been difficult to have said, that a more interesting companion had been previously met with. But he was not always in that fascinating state of pleasantry : he was as often other- wise; and no two individuals could be more distinct from each other than Byron in his gaiety and in his gloom. This antithesis was the great cause of that diversity of opinion concerning him, which has so much divided his friends and adversaries. Of his character as a poet there can be no difference of opinion, but only a difference in the degree of admiration. Excellence in talent, as in every other thing, is comparative ; but the universal republic of letters will acknowledge, that in energy of expression and liveliness of imagery Byron had no equal in his own time. Doubts, indeed, may be entertained, if in these high qualities even Shakspeare himself was his superior. I am not disposed to think with many of those who rank the genius of Byron almost as supreme, that he has shown less skill in the construction of his plots, and the development of his tales, than might have been expected from one so splendidly endowed ; for it has ever appeared to me that he has accomplished in them every thing he proposed to attain, and that in this consists one of his great merits. His mind, fervid and impassioned, was in all his compositions, except Don Juan, eagerly fixed on the catastrophe. He ever held the goal full in view, and drove to it in the most im- mediate manner. By this straightforward simplicity all the interest which intricacy excites was of necessity dis- ced. He is therefore not treated justly when it is supposed that he might have done better had he shown more art: the wonder is that he should have pro- y 2 324 THE LIFE OF duced such magnificent effects with so little. He could not have made the satiated and meditative Harold so darkling and excursive, had he treated him as the hero of a scholastic epic. The might of the poet in such creations lay in the riches of his dic- tion, and in the felicity with which he described feel- ings in relation to the aspect of scenes and the re- miniscences with which the scenes themselves were associated. If in language and plan he be so excellent, it may be asked why should he not be honoured with that pre-eminent niche in the temple which .so many in the world have by suffrage assigned to him? Simply because with all the life and beauty of his style, the vigour and truth of his descriptions, the boldness of his conceptions, and the reach of his vision in the dark abysses of passion, Lord Byron was but imper- fectly acquainted with human nature. He looked but on the outside of man. No characteristic action dis- tinguishes one of his heroes from another, nor is there much dissimilarity in their sentiments ; they have no ; individuality; they stalk and pass in mist and gloom, grim, ghastly, and portentous, mysterious shadows, entities of the twilight, weird things like the sceptred effigies of the unborn issue of Banquo. Combined with vast power, Lord Byron possessed, beyond all question, the greatest degree of originality of any poet of this age. In this rare quality he has; no parallel in any age. All other poets and in- ventive authors are measured in their excellence by the accuracy with which they fit sentiments appro- priate not only to the characters they create, but to the situations in which they place them : the works of Lord Byron display the opposite to this and with the most extraordinary splendour. He endows his crea- tions with his own qualities ; he finds in the situations in which he places them only opportunities to express what he has himself felt or suffered ; and yet he LORD BYRON. 325 mixes so much probability in the circumstances, that they are always eloquently proper. ■ He does every thing, as it were, the reverse of other poets; in the air and sea, which have been in all times the emblems of change and the similitudes of inconstancy, he has dis- covered the very principles of permanency. The ocean in his view, not by its vastness, its unfathom- able depths, and its limitless extent, becomes an image of deity, but by its unchangeable character! The variety of his productions present a prodigious display of power. In his short career he has entitled himself to be ranked in the first class of the British poets for quantity alone. By Childe Harold, and his other poems of the same mood, he has extended the scope of feeling, made us acquainted with new trains of association, awakened sympathies which few sus- pected themselves of possessing; and he has laid open darker recesses in the bosom than were previously supposed to exist. The deep and dreadful caverns of remorse had long been explored ; but he was the first to visit the bottomless pit of satiety. The delineation of that Promethean fortitude which defied conscience, as he has shown it in Manfred, is his greatest achievement. The terrific fables of Mar- lowe, and of Goethe, in their respective versions of the legend of Faustus,' had disclosed the utmost writhings which remorse, in the fiercest of its tor- ments, can express; but what are those Laocoon agonies to the sublime serenity of Manfred. In the power, the originality, and the genius combined, of that unexampled performance, Lord Byron has placed himself on an equality with Milton. The Satan of the Paradise Lost is animated by motives, and digni- fied by an eternal enterprise. He hath purposes of infinite prospect to perform, and an immeasurable ambition to satisfy. Manfred hath neither purpose, nor ambition, nor any desire that seeks gratification. He hath done a deed which severs him from hope, as 326 THE LIFE OF everlastingly as the apostacy with the angels has done Satan. He acknowledges no contrition to bespeak commiseration, he complains of no wrong to justify revenge, for he feels none; he despises sympathy, and almost glories in his perdition. He is like the spirit of one who, after crimes, having committed self- slaughter, stands calm in the bucket as he is lowered down the hatchway of hell. The creation of such a character is in the sublimest degree of originality ; to give it appropriate thoughts and feelings required powers worthy of the conception ; and to make it susceptible of being contemplated as within the scope and range of human sympathy, places Byron above all his contemporaries and ante- cedents. Milton has described in Satan the greatest of human passions, supernatural attributes, directed to immortal intents, and stung with inextinguishable revenge ; but Satan is only a dilatation of man. Man- fred is loftier, and worse than Satan ; he has con- quered punishment, having within himself a greater than hell can inflict. There is a fearful mystery inj this conception ; it is only by solemnly questioning the spirits that lurk within the dark metaphors in which Manfred expresses himself, that the hideous secrets of the character can be conjectured. But although in intellectual power, and in creative originality, Byron is entitled to stand on the highest peak of the mountain, his verse is often so harsh, and his language so obscure, that in the power of de- lighting he is only a poet of the second class. He had all the talent and the means requisite to imbo.dy his conceptions in a manner worthy of their might and majesty ; his treasury was rich in every thing rare and beautiful for illustration, but he possessed not the instinet requisite to guide him in the selection of the things necessary to the inspiration of delight; — he could give his statue life and beauty, and warmth, and motion, and eloquence, but not a tuneful voice. LORD BYR03T. 327 Some curious metaphysicians, in their subtle criti- cism, have said that Don Juan was but the bright side of Childe Harold, and that all its most brilliant imagery was similar to that of which the dark and the shadows were delineated in his other works. It may be so. And, without question, a great similarity runs through every thing that has come from the poet's pen ; but it is a family resemblance, the progeny are all like one another ; but where are those who are like them ? I know of no author in prose or rhyme, in the English language, with whom Byron can be compared. Imita- tors of his manner there will be often and many, but he will ever remain one of the few whom the world acknowledges are alike supreme, and yet unlike each other — epochal characters, who mark extraordinary periods in history. Raphael is the only man of pre-eminence whose ca- reer can be compared with that of Byron, at an age when the genius of most men is but in the dawning, they had both attained their meridian of glory, and they both died so early, that it may be said they were lent to the world only to show the height to which the mind may ascend when time shall be allowed to ac- complish the full cultivation of such extraordinary en- dowments. APPENDIX. ANECDOTES OF LORD BYRON. The detached anecdotes of Lord Byron are nu- merous, and many of them much to his credit : those that are so, I am desirous to preserve, and should have interwoven them in the body of the work, could I have found a fitting place for doing so, or been able to have made them part and parcel of a systematic narrative. I. " A young lady of considerable talents, but who had never been able to succeed in turning them to any profitable account, was reduced to great hardships through the misfortunes of her family. The only per- sons from whom she could have hoped for relief were abroad ; and urged on, more by the sufferings of those she held dear, than by her own, summoned up reso- lution to wait on Lord Byron at his apartments in the Albany, and solicit his subscription to a volume of poems : she had no previous knowledge of him, ex- cept from his works ; but from the boldness and feel- ing expressed in them, she concluded that he must be 330 APPENDIX. a man of a kind heart and amiable disposition^ She entered the apartment with diffidence, but soon found courage to state her request, which she did with sim- plicity and delicacy. He listened with attention ; and when she had done speaking, he, as if to divert her thoughts from a subject which could not but be pain- ful to her, began to converse with her in words so fascinating, and tones so gentle, that she hardly per- ceived he had been writing, until he put a slip of pa- per into her hand, saying it was his subscription, and that he most heartily wished her success. — ' But,' added he, ' we are both young, and the world is very censorious ; and so if I were to take any active part in procuring subscribers to your poems, I fear it would do you harm, rather than good.' The young lady, overpowered by the prudence and delicacy of his conduct, took her leave; and upon opening the paper in the street, which in her agitation she had not previously looked at, she found it was a draft upon his banker for fifty pounds." — Galignanis edition. II. " While in the island of Cephalonia, at Metaxata, an embankment, near which several persons had been engaged digging, fell in, and buried some of them alive. He was at dinner when he heard of the acci- dent ; starting up from table, he fled to the spot, ac- companied by his physician. The labourers employed in extricating their companions soon became alarmed for themselves, and refused to go on, saying, they believed they had dug out all the bodies which had been covered by the rubbish. Byron endeavoured to .force them to continue their exertions; but finding menaces in vain, he seized a spade, and began to dig most zealously ; when the peasantry joined him, and they succeeded in saving two more persons from cer- tain death."— Galignanis edition. APPENDIX. , 331 III. . " A schoolfellow of Byron's had a very small Shetland pony, which his father had bought for him : they went one day to the banks of the Don to bathe, but having only the pony, they were obliged to follow the good old practice, called in Scotland, ' ride and tie;' when they came to the bridge over the dark ro- mantic stream, Byron bethought him of the prophecy which he has quoted in Don Juan. ' Brig o' Balgounie, black's your wa' Wi' a wife's ae son and a mare's ae foal Doun ye shall fa ! ' He immediately stopped his companion, who was riding, and asked him if he remembered the prophecy, saying, that as they were both only sons, and as the pony might be ' a mare's ae foal,' he would ride over first, because he had only a mother to lament him, should the prophecy be fulfilled by the falling of the bridge; whereas the other had both a father and a mother." — Galignanis edition. IV. " When Lord Byron was a member of the Managing (query, mis-managing) Committee of Drury-lane Theatre, Bartley was speaking with him on the decay of the drama, and took occasion to urge his Lordship to write a tragedy for the stage : ' I cannot,' was the reply, ' I don't know how to make the people go on and off in the scenes, and know not where to find a fit character.' ' Take your own,' said Bartley, meaning in the honesty of his heart, one of his Laras or Childe Harolds. * Much obliged to you,' was the reply — and exit in a huff. Byron thought he spoke literally of his own real character." V. Lord Byron was very jealous of his title. " A friend 332 APPENDIX. told me, that an Italian apothecary having sent him one day a packet of medicines addressed to i Mons. Byron/ this mock-heroic mistake aroused his indigna- tion, and he sent the physic back, to learn better manners." — Leigh Hunt. VI. " He affected to doubt whether Shakspeare was so great a genius as he has been taken for. There was a greater committal of himself at the bottom of this notion then he supposed ; and perhaps circumstances had really disenabled him from having the proper idea of Shakspeare, though it could not have fallen so short of the truth as he pretended. Spenser he could not read, at least he said so'. I lent him a volume of the i Faery Queen/ and he said he would try to like it. Next day he brought it to my study-window and said, i Here, Hunt, here is your Spenser; I cannot see any thing in him.' When he found Sandys's Ovid among my books, he said, ' God ! what an unpleasant recollection I have of this book ! I met with it on my wedding-day ; I read it while I was waiting to go to church.' " — Leigh Hunt. VII. " i Have you seen my three helmets?' he inquired One day, with an air between hesitation and hurry. Upon being answered in the negative, he said he would show them me, and began to enter a room for that purpose; but stopped short, and put it off to another time. These three helmets he had got up in honour of his going to war, and as harbingers to achievement. They were the proper classical shape, gilt, and had his motto — ' Crede Byron.'" — Leigh Hunt. - VIII. " His superstition was remarkable. I do not mean APPENDIX. . 333 in the ordinary sense, because he was superstitious, but because it was petty and old womanish. He be- lieved in the ill-luck of Fridays ; and was seriously disconcerted if any thing was to be done on that frightful day of the week. Had he been a Roman, he would have started at crows, when he made a jest of augurs. He used to tell a story of somebody's meeting him while in Italy, in St. James's-street."— Leigh Hunt. IX. One night, in the opera, while he was in Italy, a gentleman appeared in one of the lower boxes, so like Lord Byron, that he attracted a great deal of attention. I saw him myself, and was not convinced it was not him until I went close to the box to speak to him. I afterwards ascertained that the stranger belonged to the Stock Exchange. — J. G. X. On another occasion, during the queen's trial, it was reported that he had arrived from abroad, and was seen entering the House of Lords. A friend of mine mentioned the circumstance to him afterwards. " No!" said he, " that would have been too much, considering the state of matters between me and my own wife." — «/. G. XI. Lord Byron said that Hunt had no right perception of the sublimity of Alpine scenery ; that is, no moral associations!, n connexion with such scenery; and that he called a mountain a great impostor. I shall quote from his visit to Italy what Mr. Hunt says him- self : it is daintily conceived and expressed. " The Alps. — It was the first time I had seen moun- tains. They had a fine, sulky look, up aloft in the sky —cold, lofty, and distant. I used to think that moun- 334 APPENDIX. tains would impress me but little ; that by the same process of imagination reversed, by which a brook can be fancied a mighty river, with forests instead of verdure on its banks, a mountain could be made a mole-hill, over which we step. But one look convinced me to the contrary. I found I could elevate better than I could pull down, and I was glad of it." — Leigh Hunt. XII. In one of Lord Byron's conversations with Doctor Kennedy, he said, in speaking of the liberality of the late pope, " I like his Holiness very much, par- ticularly since an order, which I understand he has lately given, that no more miracles shall be performed." In speaking of Mr. Henry Drummond and Lord Cal- thorpe, he inquired whether the Doctor knew them. " No!" was the answer; "except by report, which points them out as eminent for their piety."— " I know them very well," said his Lordship. " They were not always so ; but they are excellent men. Lord Cal- thorpe was the first who called me an Atheist, when we were at school at Harrow, for which I gave him as good a drubbing as ever he got in his life." — Dr. Kennedy. XIII. " Speaking of witches," said Lord Byron to Doctor Kennedy, " what think you of the witch of Endor ? I have always thought this the finest and most fi- nished witch-scene, that ever was written or conceived; and you will be of my opinion, if you consider all the circumstances and the actors in the case, together with the gravity, simplicity, and dignity of the lan- guage. It beats all the ghost-scenes I ever read. The finest conception on a similar subject is that of Goethe's devil, Mephistophiles ; and though of course you will give the priority to the former, as being in- spired, yet the latter, if you know it, will appear to APPENDIX, 335 you — at least it does to me — one of the finest and most sublime specimens of human conception." — Dr. Kennedy. XIV. One evening- Lord Byron was with a friend at a masquerade in the Argyll-rooms, a few nights after Skeffington's tragedy of The Mysterious Bride had been damned. His friend was dressed as a nun, who had endured depredation from the French in Portugal. — " What is she?" said Skeffington, who came up to his Lordship, pointing to the nun. The reply was, " The Mysterious Bride."—/. G. XV. "One of Lord Byron's household had several times involved himself and his master in perplexity and trouble by his unrestrained attachment to women. In Greece this had been very annoying, and induced Lord Byron to think of a means of curing it. A young Suliote of the guard was accordingly dressed up like a woman, and instructed to place himself in the way of the amorous swain. The bait took, and after some communication, but rather by signs than by words, for the pair did not understand each other's language, the sham lady' was carefully conducted by the gallant to one of Lord Byron's apartments. Here the couple were surprised by an enraged Suliote, a husband provided for the occasion, accompanied by half a dozen of his comrades, whose presence and threats terrified the poor lackey almost out of his senses. The noise of course brought Lord Byron to the spot to laugh at the tricked serving-man, and rescue him from the effects of his terror." — Galignani's edition. XVI. "A few days after the earthquake, which took place 336 APPENDIX. on the 2 1st of February, as we were all sitting at table in the evening 1 , we were suddenly alarmed by a noise and a shaking of the house, somewhat similar to that which we had experienced when the earthquake oc- cured. Of course all started from their places, and there was the same confusion as on the former evening, at which Byron, who was present, laughed immo- derately : we were reassured by this, and soon learnt that the whole was a method he had adopted to sport with our fears."- — Galignanis edition, XVII. " The regiment, or rather brigade we formed, can be described only as Byron himself describes it. There was a Greek tailor, who had been in the British ser- vice in the Ionian islands, where he had married an Italian woman. This lady, knowing something of the military service, petitioned Lord Byron to appoint her husband master- tailor of the brigade. The suggestion was useful, and this part of her petition was imme- diately granted. At the same time, however, she solicited that she might be permitted to raise a corps of women to be placed under her orders, to accompany the regiment. She stipulated for free quarters and rations for them, but rejected all claim for pay. They were to be free of all encumbrances, and were to wash, sew, cook, and otherwise provide for the men. The proposition pleased Lord Byron, and stating the matter to me, he said he hoped I should have no objection. I had been accustomed to see women accompany the English army, and I knew that though sometimes an i encumbrance, they were on the whole more beneficial than otherwise. In Greece there were many circum- stances which would make their services extremely valuable, and I gave my consent to the measure. The tailor's wife did accordingly recruit a considerable number of unencumbered women, of almost all nations, but principally Greeks, Italians, Maltese, and ne-r APPENDIX. . 337 gresses. { I was afraid,' said Lord Byron, { when I mentioned this matter to you, you would be crusty and oppose it — it is the very thing. Let me see ; my corps outdoes Falstaff's. There are English, Germans, French, Maltese, Ragusians, Italians, Neapolitans, Transylvanians, Russians, Suliotes, Moreotes, and Western Greeks in front, and to bring up the rear the tailor's wife and her troop. Glorious Apollo ! No general ever before had such an army.' " — Galignanis edition. XVIII. " Lord Byron had a black groom with him in Greece, an American by birth, to whom he was very partial. He always insisted on this man's calling him massa, whenever he spoke to him. On one occasion, the groom met with two women of his own complexion, who had been slaves to the Turks and liberated, but had been left almost to starve when the Greeks had risen on their tyrant. Being of the same colour was a bond of sympathy between them and the groom, and he ap- plied to me to give both these women quarters in the seraglio. I granted the application, and mentioned it to Lord Byron, who laughed at the gallantry of his groom and ordered that he should be brought before him at ten o'clock the next day, to answer for his pre- sumption in making such an application. At ten o'clock accordingly he attended his master, with great trembling and fear, but stuttered so when he attempt- ed to speak, that he could not make himself under- stood. Lord Byron, endeavouring almost in vain to preserve his gravity, reproved him severely for his pre- sumption. Blacky stuttered a thousand excuses, and was ready to do any thing to appease his massa's anger. His great yellow eyes wide open, he trem- bling from head to foot, his wandering and stuttering excuses, his visible dread, all tended to provoke laughter, and Lord Byron fearing his own dignity 2 338 APPENDIX. would be hove overboard, told him to hold his tongue and listen to his sentence. I was commanded to en- ter it in his memorandum-book, and then he pro- nounced it in a solemn tone of voice, while blacky stood aghast, expecting some severe punishment, the following doom : ' My determination is, that the children born of these black women, of which you may be the father, shall be my property, and I will main- tain them. What say you V ' Go— Go— God bless you, massa, may you live great while,' stuttered out the groom, and sallied forth to tell the good news to the two distressed women." — Galignanis edition. XIX. " The luxury of Lord Byron's living, at this time, in Missolonghi, may be seen from the following order which he gave his superintendent of the household for the daily expenses of his own table. It amounts to no more than one piastre. Paras. Bread, a pound and a half - - 15 Wine - - •: 7 Fisli _ . - 15 Olives -------- 3 40 u This was his dinner ; his breakfast consisted of a single cup of tea, without milk or sugar."— Galignanis edition. XX, « It is true that Lord Byron's high notions of rank were in his boyish days so little disguised or softened down as to draw upon him at times the ridicule of his companions; and it was at Dulwich, I think, that from his frequent boast of the superiority of an old English barony over all the later creations of the peerage, he got the nickname, among the boys, of ' the Old English Baron.' "— -Moore. .APPENDIX. * 339 XXI. u While Lord Byron and Mr. Peel were at Harrow together, a tyrant a few years older, whose name was * * * * * claimed a right to fag little Peel, which claim (whether rightly or wrongly, I know not) Peel resisted. His resistance, however, was in vain : ****** not only subdued him, but determined to punish the refractory slave ; and proceeded forthwith to put this determination in practice by inflicting a kind of bas- tinado on the inner fleshy side of the boy's arm, which during the operation was twisted round with some degree of technical skill, to render the pain more acute. While the stripes were succeeding each other, and poor Peel writhing under them, Byron saw and felt for the misery of his friend, and although he knew that he was not strong enough to fight ****** with any hope of success, and that it was dangerous even to approach him, he advanced to the scene of action, and with a blush of rage, tears in his eyes, and a voice trembling between terror and indignation, asked very humbly if ***** * « would be pleased to tell him how many stripes he meant to inflict?' — * Why,' returned the executioner, ' you little rascal, what is that to you V ' Because, if you please/ said Byron, holding out his" arm, ' I would take half/ " — Moore. XXII. u In the autumn of 1802, he passed a short time with his mother at Bath, and entered rather prematurely into some of the gaieties of the place. At a masquerade, given by Lady Riddel, he appeared in the character of a Turkish boy, a sort of anticipation both in beauty and costume, of his own young Selim in The Bride. On his entering into the house, some person attempted to snatch the diamond crescent from his turban, but was prevented by the prompt interposition of one of the party." — Moore. z2 340 APPENDIX. XXIII. " You ask me to recall some anecdotes of the time we spent together at Harrowgate, in the summer of 1806, on our return from college, he from Cambridge, and I from Edinburgh ; but so many years have elapsed since then, that I really feel myself as if recalling a distant dream. We, I remember, went in Lord Byron's own carriage with post-horses ; and he sent his groom with two saddle-horses, and a beautifully- formed, very ferocious bull-mastiff, called Nelson, to meet us there. Boatswain went by the side of his valet, Frank, on the box with us. The bull-dog Nel- son always wore a muzzle, and was occasionally sent for into our private room, when the muzzle was taken off much to my annoyance, and he and his master amused themselves with throwing the room into dis- order. There was always a jealous feud between this Nelson and Boatswain, and whenever the latter came into the room while the former was there, they in- stantly seized each other, and then Byron, myself, Frank, and all the waiters that could be found, were vigorously engaged in parting them ; which was, in general, only effected by thrusting poker and tongs into the mouth of each. But one day Nelson unfor- tunately escaped out of the room without his muzzle, and, going into the stable-yard, fastened upon the throat of a horse, from which he could not be disen- gaged. The stable-boys ran in alarm to find Frank, who, taking one of his Lordship's Wogdon's pistols, always kept loaded in his room, shot poor Nelson through the head, to the great regret of Byron." — Moore. XXIV. " His fondness for dogs, another fancy which ac- companied him through life, may be judged from the. anecdotes already given in the account of his expedi- tion to Harrogate. Of his favourite dog Boatswain, APPENDIX. . 341 whom he has immortalized in verse, and by whose side it was once his solemn purpose to be buried, some traits are told, indicative not only of intelligence, but of a generosity of spirit, which might well win for him the affections of such a master as Byron. One of these I shall endeavour to relate, as nearly as possible as it was told to me. Mrs. Byron had a fox-terrier called Gilpin, with whom her son's dog Boatswain was perpetually at war, taking every opportunity of attacking and worrying him so violently, that it was very much ap- prehended he would kill the animal. Mrs. Byron, therefore, sent off her terrier to a tenant at Newstead, and on the departure of Lord Byron for Cambridge, his friend Boatswain, with two other dogs, was in trusted to the care of a servant till his return. One morning the servant was much alarmed by the disap- pearance of Boatswain, and throughout the whole of the day he could hear no tidings of him. At last, towards evening, the stray dog arrived, accompanied by Gilpin, whom he led immediately to the kitchen fire, licking him, and lavishing upon him every pos- sible demonstration of joy. The fact was, he had been all the way to Newstead to fetch him, and having now established his former foe under the roof once more agreed so perfectly well, with him ever after, that he even protected him against the insults of other dogs (a task which the quarrelsomeness of the little terrier ren- dered no sinecure) ; and if he but heard Gilpin's voice in distress, would fly instantly to his rescue." — Moore. XXV. "Of his chanty and kind-heartedness, he left behind him at Southwell, as indeed at every place throughout life where he resided any time, the most cordial re- collections. ' He never,' says a person who knew him intimately at this period, < met with objects of distress without affording them succour.' Among many little traits of this nature, which his friends de- 342 APPENDIX. light to tell, I select the following, less as a proof of his generosity, than from the interest which the simple incident itself, as connected with the name of Byron, presents. While yet a schoolboy, he happened to be in a bookseller's shop at Southwell when a poor woman came in to purchase a Bible. The price she was told by the shopman was eight shillings. ' Ah, dear sir !' she exclaimed, ' I cannot pay such a price: I did not think it would cost half the money.' The woman was then, with a look of disappointment, going away, when young Byron called her back, and made her a present of the Bible." — Moore. XXVI. " In his attention to his person and dress, to the be* coming arrangement of his hair, and to whatever might best show off the beauty with which nature had gifted him, he manifested, even thus early, his anxiety to make himself pleasing to that sex who were, from first to last, the ruling stars of his destiny. The fear of becoming what he was naturally inclined to be, enor- mously fat, had induced him, from his first entrance at Cambridge, to adopt, for the purpose of reducing himself, a system of violent exercise and abstinence, together with the frequent use of warm baths. But the imbittering circumstance of his life — that which haunted him like a curse, amidst the buoyancy oft youth, and the anticipations of fame and pleasure- was, strange to say, the trifling deformity of his foot. By that one slight blemish (as, in his moments of me- lancholy, he persuaded himself), all the blessings that nature had showered upon him were counterbalanced. His reverend friend, Mr. Becher, finding him one day unusually dejected, endeavoured to cheer and rouse him, by representing, in their brightest colours, all the various advantages with which Providence had endowed him ; and among the greatest, that of * a mind which placed him above the rest of mankind.' appendix, 343: f Ah, my dear friend/ said . Byron mournfully, ' if this (laying his hand on his forehead) places me above the rest of mankind, that (pointing to his foot) places me far, far below them.' " — Moore. XXVII. " His coming of age, in 1809, was celebrated at Newstead by such festivities as his narrow means and society could furnish. Besides the ritual roasting of an ox, there was a ball, it seems, given on the occasion, of which the only particular I could collect from the old domestic who mentioned it, was, that Mr. Hanson, the agent of her lord, was among the dancers. Of Lord Byron's own method of commemorating the day I find the following curious record in a letter written from Genoa in 1822. ' Did I ever tell you that the day I came of age I dined on eggs and bacon and a bottle of ale ? For once in a way they are my favou- rite dish and drinkable ; but, as neither of them agree with me, I never use them but on great jubilees — once in four or five years or so.' " — Moore. XXVIII. " At Smyrna Lord Byron took up his residence in the house of the consul-general, and remained there, with the exception of two or three days, employed in a visit to the ruins of Ephesus, till the 1 1th of April. It was during this time, as appears from a memorandum of his own, that the two first cantos of Childe Harold, which he had begun five months before at Joannina, were completed. The memorandum alluded to, which I find prefixed to his original manuscript of the poem 3 is as follows : "Byron, Joannina in Albania, begun Oct. 31, 1809; con- cluded Canto 2d, Smyrna, March 28, 1810. ^ BYRON." Moore t 344 APPENDIX. XXIX. " In the last edition of M. D'Israeli's work on 'the literary character,' that gentleman has given some cu- rious marginal notes, which he found written by Lord Byron in a copy of this work that belonged to him. Among them is the following enumeration of the writers that, besides Rycaut, have drawn his attention so early to the east : " 'Knolles, Cantemir, De Tott, Lady M. W. Mon- tague, Hawkin's translation from Mignot's History of the Turks, the Arabian Nights, all travels, or histories, or books upon the east I could meet with, I had read, as well as Rycaut, before I was ten years old. I think the Arabian Nights first. After these I preferred the history of naval actions, Don Quixote, and Smollet's novels, particularly Roderick Random; and I was passionate for the Roman history. When a boy, I could never bear to read any poetry without disgust and reluctance.' " — Moore. XXX. " During Lord Byron's administration, a ballet was invented by the elder Byrne, in which Miss Smith (since Mrs. Oscar Byrne) had a pas seul. This the lady wished to remove to a later period in the ballet. The ballet-master refused, and the lady swore she would not dance it at all. The music incidental to the dance began to play, and the lady walked off the stage. Both parties flounced into the green-room, to lay the case before Lord Byron, who happened to be the only person in that apartment. The noble com- mittee-man made an award in favour of Miss Smith, and both complainants rushed angrily out of the room at the -instant of my entering it. ' If you had come a minute sooner,' said Lord Byron, l you would have heard a curious matter decided on by me : a question of dancing ! by me,' added he, looking down at the APPENDIX. , 345 lame limb, ' whom nature, from my birth, has prohi- bited from taking a single step.' His countenance fell after he had uttered this, as if he had said too much ; and for a moment there was an embarrassing silence on both sides."—- Moore. XXXI. The following account of Lord Byron, at Milan, before he fixed his residence at Venice, is interesting. It is extracted from The Foreign Literary Gazette, a periodical work which was prematurely abandoned, and is translated from the French of M. Stendhal, a gentleman of literary celebrity in France, but whose ■works are not much known in this country. " In 1817, a r few young people met every evening at the Theatre de la Scala, at Milan, in the box of Monsignor Ludovic de Breme, formerly chief almoner of the ex-king of Italy. This Italian custom, not generally followed in France, banished all ceremony. The affectation that chills the atmosphere of a French saloon is unknown in the society of Milan. How is it possible that such a sentiment can find a place amongst individuals in the habit of seeing each other above three hundred times in the course of a twelve- month ? One evening, a stranger made his appear- ance in Monsignor de Breme's box. He was young, of middling stature, and with remarkably fine eyes. As he advanced, we observed that he limped a little. * Gentlemen/ said Monsignor de Breme, ' this is Lord Byron.' We were afterwards presented to his Lord- ship, the whole scene passing with as much ceremo- nious gravity, as if our introducer had been De Breme's grandfather, in days of yore ambassador from the I Duke of Savoy to the court of Louis XIV. Aware of the character of the English, who generally avoid such as appear to court their society, we cau- tiously abstained from conversing with, or even looking at, Lord Byron. The latter had been informed, that 346: Appendix. in the course of the evening he would probably be introduced to a stranger who had performed the celebrated campaign of Moscow, which still pos- sessed the charm of novelty, as at that time we had not been spoiled by any romances on the sub- ject. A fine-looking man, with a military appear- ance, happening to be of our party, his Lordship naturally concluded that he was the hero ; and ac- cordingly, in addressing him, relaxed considerably from the natural coldness of his manner. The next day, however, Byron was undeceived. Changing his battery, he did me the honour to address me on the subject of Russia. I idolized Napoleon, and replied to his Lordship as I should have done to a member of the legislative assembly who had exiled the ex-emperor to St. Helena. I subsequently discovered, that Lord Byron was at once enthusiastic in favour of Napoleon, and jealous of his fame. He used to say, ' Napoleon and myself are the only individuals who sign our names with the initials N. B.' (Noel Byron.) My determination to be cold offers some explanation for the marked kindness with which, at the end of a few days, Lord Byron did me the favour to regard me Our friends in the box imagined, that the discussion which had taken place, and which, though polite and respectful on my part, had been rather warm, would prevent all further intimacy between us. They were mistaken. The next evening, his Lordship took me by the arm, and walked with me for an hour in the saloon of the Theatre de la Scala. I was gratified with his politeness, for which, at the bottom, I was indebted to his desire of conversing with an eyewit- ness on the subject of the Russian campaign. He even closely cross-questioned me on this point. However, a second reading of Childe Harold made amends for all. His progress in the good graces of my Italian friends, who met every evening in Monsignor de Breme's box, was not very rapid. appendix. h 347 I , must confess, that his Lordship, one evening, broached rather a whimsical idea — that, in a discus- sion which had just been started, his title added weight to his opinion. On that occasion, De Breme retorted with the well-known anecdote of Marshal de Castries, who, shocked at the deference once paid to P'Alembert's judgment, exclaimed, i A pretty rea- soner truly ! a fellow not worth three thousand francs a-year !' On another evening, Lord Byron afforded an opening to ridicule, by the warmth with which he denied all resemblance between his own character and that of Jean Jaques Rousseau, to whom he had been compared. His principal objection to the comparison, though he would not acknowledge the fact, was, that Rousseau had been a servant, and the son of a watch- maker. We could not avoid a hearty laugh, when, at the conclusion of the argument, Byron requested from De Breme, who was allied to the oldest nobility of Turin, some information relative to the family of Govon, in whose service Jean Jaques had actually lived. (See Les Confessions.) Lord Byron always entertained a great horror of corpulency. . His an- tipathy to a full habit of body might be called a fixed idea. M. Pollidori, a young physician who travelled with him, assured us, that his Lordship's mother was of low stature and extremely fat. During at least a third part of the day, Byron was a dandy, expressed a constant dread of augment- ing the bulk of his outward man, concealed his right foot as much as possible, and endeavoured to render himself agreeable in female society. His vanity, how- ever, frequently induced him to lose sight of the end, in his attention to the means. Love was sacrificed;— an affair of the heart would have interfered with his daily exercise on horseback. At Milan and Venice, his fine eyes, his handsome horses, and his fame, gained him the smiles of several young, noble, and lovely females, one of whom, in particular, performed 348 APPENDIX. a journey of more than a hundred miles for the plea- sure of being present at a masked ball to -which his Lordship was invited. Byron was apprized of the circumstance, but, either from hauteur or shyness, declined an introduction. 'Your poets are perfect clowns,' cried the fair one, as she indignantly quitted the ball-room. Had Byron succeeded in his preten- sions to be thought the finest man in England, and had his claims to the fashionable supremacy been at the same time disputed, he would still have been unsatisfied. In his moments of dandyism, he always pronounced the name of Brummel with a mingled emotion of respect and jealousy. When his personal attractions were not the subject of his considera- tion, his noble birth was uppermost in his thoughts. At Milan we often purposely discussed in his pre- sence the question, ' if Henry IV. could justly pre- tend to the attribute of clemency, after having ordered his old companion, the Duke de Biron, to be behead- ed V ' Napoleon would have acted differently,' was his Lordship's constant reply. It was ludicrous to observe his respect wavering undecided between ac- quired distinction and his own nobility, which he con- sidered far above that of the Duke de Biron. When the pride of birth and personal vanity no longer usurped undue sway over his mind, he again became the sublime poet and the man of sense. Never, after the example of Madame de Stael, did he indulge in the childish vanity of ' turning a phrase.' When literary subjects were introduced, Byron was exactly the re- verse of an academician; his thoughts flowed with greater rapidity than his words, and his expressions were free from all affectation or studied grace. To- wards midnight, particularly when the music of the opera had produced an impression on his feelings, in- stead of describing them with a view to effect, he yielded naturally to his emotions, as though he had all his life been an inhabitant of the south." APPENDIX. , 349 After quoting a passage from Moore's recently-pub- lished Life of Byron, in which the poet obscurely al- ludes to his remorse for some unexplained crime, real or imaginary, Mr. Stendhal thus proceeds : " Is it possible that Byron might have had some guilty stain upon his conscience, similar to that which wrecked Othello's fame? Such a question can no longer be injurious but to him who has given it birth. It must be admitted, that during nearly a third of the time we passed in the poet's society, he appeared to us like one labouring under an access of folly, often approaching to madness. ' Can it be,' have we sometimes exclaimed, ' that in a frenzy of pride or jealousy he has shortened the days of some fair Gre- cian slave, faithless, to her vows of love V Be this as it may, a great man once known may be said to have opened an account with posterity. If Byron played the part of Othello, hundreds of witnesses will be found to bear testimony to the damning deed ; and sooner or later posterity will learn whether his remorse was founded in guilt, or in the affectation of which he has so frequently been accused. After all, is it not possible that his conscience might have exaggerated some youthful error ? One evening, amongst others, the con- versation turned upon a handsome Milanese female, who had eagerly desired to venture her person in single combat with a lover by whom she had been abandoned : the discussion afterwards changed to the story of a prince who in cold blood had murdered his mistress for an act of infidelity. Byron was instantly silent, en- deavoured to restrain his feelings, but, unequal to the effort, soon afterwards indignantly quitted the box. His indignation on this occasion was evidently directed against the subject of the anecdote, and in our eyes absolved himself from the suspicion of a similar offence. Whatever might be the crime of which Byron appa- rently stood self-accused, I may compare it to the robbery of a piece of riband, committed by Jean 350 APPENDIX. Jaques Rousseau during his stay at Turin. After the lapse of a few weeks, Byron seemed to have acquired a taste for the society of Milan. When the perform- ances for the evening were over, we frequently stopped at the door of the theatre to enjoy the sight of the beauties who passed us in review. Perhaps few cities could boast such an assemblage of lovely women as that which chance had collected at Milan in 1817. Many of them had flattered themselves with the idea that Byron would seek an introduction ; but whether from pride, timidity, or a remnant of dandyism, which induced him to do exactly the contrary of what was expected, he invariably declined that honour. He seemed to prefer a conversation on poetical or philosophical subjects. At the theatre, our discussions were frequently so ener- getical as to rouse the indignation of the pit. One evening, in the middle of a philosophical argument on the principle of utility, Silvio Pellico, a delightful poet, who has since died in an Austrian prison, came in breathless haste to apprize Lord Byron that his friend and physician, Polidori, had been arrested. We instantly ran to the guard-house. It turned out, that Polidori had fancied himself incommoded in the pit by the fur cap of the officer on guard, and had re- quested him to take it off, alleging that it impeded his view of the stage. The poet Monti had accompanied us, and, to the number of fifteen or twenty, we sur- rounded the prisoner. Every one spoke at once ; Po- lidori was beside himself with passion, and his face red as a burning coal. Byron, though he too was in a violent rage, was, on the contrary, pale as ashes. His patrician blood boiled as he reflected on the slight consideration in which he was held. I have little doubt but at that moment he regretted the wall of separation which he had reared between himself and the ultra party. At all events, the Austrian officer spied the leaven of sedition in our countenances, and, if he was versed in history, probably thought of the APPENDIX* - 351 insurrection of Genoa, in 1740. He ran from the guard-house to call his men, who seized their arms that had been piled on the outside. Monti's idea was excellent ; ' Fortiamo tutti ; restino solamente i tito- lati.'* De Breme remained, with the Marquis de Sartirana, his brother, Count Confalonieri, and Lord Byron. These gentlemen having written their names and titles, the list was handed to the officer on guard, who instantly forgot the insult offered to his fur cap, and allowed Polidori to leave the guard-house. In the evening, however, the doctor received an order to quit Milan within twenty - four hours. Foaming with rage, he swore that he would one day return and bestow manual castigation on the governor who had treated him with so little respect. He did not return ; and two years afterwards a bottle of prussic acid terminated his career; — at least, sic dicitur. The morning after Polidori's departure, Byron, in a tete-cl-tete with me, complained bitterly of persecution. So little was I acquainted with i titolati, to use Monti's expression, that in the sim- plicity of my heart I gave his Lordship the following counsel : ' Realize,' said I, ' four or five hundred thousand francs; two or three confidential friends -will circulate the report of your death, and bestow on a log of wood the honours of Christian burial in some snug retired spot — the island of Elba, suppose. An authentic account of your decease shall be forwarded to England ; meanwhile, under the name of Smith or Wood, you may live comfortably and quietly at Lima. When, in process of time, Mr. Smith or Mr. Wood becomes a venerable gray-headed old gentleman, he may even return to Europe, and purchase from a Roman or Parisian bookseller, a set of Childe Harold, •or Lara, thirtieth edition, with notes and annotations. * Let us all go out : let those'only remain who are titled per- 352 APPENDIX* Moreover, when Mr. Smith or Mr. Wood is really about to make his exit from this life, he may, if he pleases, enjoy one bright original moment : thus may he say ; — ' Lord Byron, who for thirty years, has been numbered with the dead, even now lingers on this side of eternity : — I am the man : the society of my countrymen appeared to me so insipid, that I quitted them in disgust.' ' My cousin, who is heir to my title, owes you an infinity of thanks,' coldly replied Lord Byron. I repressed the repartee which hovered on my lips. Byron had a defect in common with all the spoiled children of fortune. He cherished in his bosom two contradictory inclinations. He wish- ed to be received as a man of rank, and admired as a brilliant poet. The Elena of Mayer was at that time the performance most in vogue at Milan. The public patiently endured two miserable acts, for the pleasure of hearing a sublime sesteto in the third. One day, when it was sung with more than ordinary power, I was struck with the expression of Byron's eyes. Never had seen any thing so enthusiastic. Internally, I made a vow that I never would of my own free accord sadden a spirit so noble. In the evening, I recollect that some one alluded to the following .singular sonnet of Tasso, in which the poet makes a boast of incredulity. ' Odi, Filli, che tuona ..... Ma che curar dobbiam che faccia Giove ? Godiam noi qui, s'egli e turbato in cielo : ' Tenia in volgo i suoi tuoini .... Pera il mondo, e rovini ! a me non cale Se non di quel che piu piace e diletta ; Che, se terra saru, terra ancor fui.' Hear'st thou, Phyllis, it thunders ? But what are Jove's acts to us ? Let us enjoy ourselves here ; if he be troubled in his heaven, Vulgar spirits may dread his thunder. Let the world perish and fall in ruins : I care not, Except for her who pleases me best ; For if dust I shall be, dust I was. APPENDIX. 353 " ' Those verses/ said Byron, c were written under the influence of spleen — nothing more. A belief in the Supreme Being was an absolute necessity for the tender and warm imagination of Tasso. He was, be- sides, too much of a Platonist to connect together the links of a difficult argument. When he composed that sonnet, he felt the inspiration of his genius, and pro-» bably wanted a morsel of bread and a mistress.' The house in which Lord Byron resided was situated at the further extremity of a solitary quarter, at the distance of half a league from the Theatre de la Scala. The streets of Milan were at that time much infested [ with robbers during the night. Some of us, for- | getting time and space in the charm of the poet's ! conversation, generally accompanied him to his own i door, and on our return, at two o'clock in the morn- I ing, were obliged to pass through a multitude of intri-» cate, suspicious-looking streets. This circumstance gave an additional air of romance to the noble bard's retreat. For my part, I often wondered that he escaped being laid under contribution. Had it been otherwise, with his feelings and ideas, he would undoubtedly have felt peculiarly mortified. The fact is, that the practical jokes played off by the knights of the road were frequently of the most ludicrous description—at least to all but the sufferers. The weather was cold, and the pedestrian, snugly enveloped in his cloak, was often attacked by some dexterous thief, who, gliding gently behind him, passed a hoop over his head down to his elbows, and thus fettered the victim, whom he afterwards pillaged at his leisure. Polidori informed us that Byron often composed a hundred verses in the course of the morning. On his return from the theatre in the evening, still under the charm of the music to which he had listened, he would take up his papers, and reduce his hundred verses to five-and- twenty or thirty. When he had in this manner put together four or five hundred, he sent the whole to 2 a 354 APPENDIX. Murray, his publisher, in London. He often sat up all night, in the ardour of composition, and drank a sort of grog made of hollands and water — a beverage in which he indulged rather copiously when his Muse was coy. But, generally speaking, he was not addicted to excessive drinking, though he has accused himself of that vice. To restrain the cir- cumference of his person within proper limits, he fre- quently went without a dinner, or, at most, dined on a little bread and a solitary dish of vegetables. This frugal meal cost but a franc or two ; and on such occasions Byron used, with much apparent com- placency, to accuse himself of avarice. His extreme sensibility to the charms of music may partly be attri- buted to the chagrin occasioned by his domestic mis- fortunes. Music caused his tears to flow in abund- ance, and thus softened the asperity of his suffering. His feelings, however, on this subject, were those of a debutante. When he had heard a new opera for up- wards of a twelvemonth, he was often enraptured with a composition which had previously afforded him little pleasure, or which he had even severely criticised. I never observed Byron in a more delightful or unaffected vein of gaiety than on the day when we made an ex- cursion about two miles from Milan, to visit the cele- brated echo of la Simonetta, which repeats the report of a pistol-shot thirty or forty times. By way of con- trast, the next day, at a grand dinner given by Mon- signor de Breme, his appearance was lowering as that of Talma in the part of Nero. Byron arrived late, and was obliged to cross a spacious saloon, in which every eye was fixed on him and his club foot. Far from being the indifferent or phlegmatic personage, who alone can play the dandy to perfection, Byron was uh- ceasiugly tyrannised by some ruling passion. When not under the influence of nobler failings, he was tormented by an absurd vanity, which urged him to pretend to every thing. But his genius once awakened, his faults were APPENDIX. - 355 shaken off as a garment that would have incommoded the flight of his imagination : the poet soared beyond the confines of earth, and wafted his hearers along with him. Never shall I forget the sublime poem which he composed one evening on the subject of Castruccio-Castracani, the Napoleon of the middle age. Byron had one failing in common with all poets — an extreme sensibility to praise or censure, especially when coming from a brother bard. He seemed not to.be aware, that judgments of this nature are generally dictated by a spirit of affectation, and that the most favourable can only be termed cer- tificates of resemblance. I must not omit to notice the astonishing effect produced on Lord Byron by the view of a fine painting of Daniel Crespi. The subject was taken from the well-known story of a monk sup- posed to have died in the odour of sanctity ; and who, whilst his brethren were chanting the service of the dead around his bier in the church at midnight, was said to have suddenly lifted the funeral pall, and quitted his coffin, exclaiming, ' Justo judicio Dei damnatus sum ! ' We were unable to wrest Byron from the contemplation of this picture, which produced on his mind a sensation amounting to horror. To in- dulge his humour on this point, we mounted our horses in silence, and rode slowly towards a monastery at a little distance, where he shortly afterwards over- took us. Byron turned up his lips with an incredulous sneer when he heard, for the first time, that there are ten Italian dialects instead of one; and that amongst the whole population of Italy, only the inhabitants of Rome, Sienna, and Florence, speak the language as it is written. Silvio Pellico once said to him : ' The most delightful of the ten or twelve Italian dialects, unknown beyond the Alps, is the Venetian. The Ve- netians are the French of Italy.' < They have, then, some comic poet living V — ' Yes, replied Pellico ; < a charming poet ; but as his comedies are not allowed 2 a2 356 APPENDIX, to be performed, he composes them under the form of satires. The name of this delightful poet is Bu- ratti ; and every six months, by the governor's orders, he pays a visit to one of the prisons of Venice.' In my opinion, this conversation with Silvio Pellico gave the tone to Byron's subsequent poetical career. He eagerly demanded the name of the bookseller who sold M. Buratti's works ; and as he was accustomed to the expression of Milanese bluntness, the question ex- cited a hearty laugh at his expense. He was soon in- formed, that if Buratti wished to pass his whole life in prison, the appearance of his works in print would infallibly lead to the gratification of his desires ; and besides, where could a printer be found hardy enough to run his share of the risk? An incomplete manuscript of Buratti cost from three to four sequins. The next day, the charming Comtessina N. was kind enough to lend her collection to one of our party. Byron, who imagined himself an adept in the language of Dante and Ariosto, was at first rather puzzled by Bu- ratti's manuscripts. We read over, with him some of Goldoni's comedies, which enabled him at last to com- prehend Buratti's satires. One of our Italian friends was even immoral enough to lend him a copy of Baffo's sonnets. What a crime this had been in the eyes of Southey ! What a pity he was not, at an earlier pe- riod, made acquainted with the atrocious deed ! I persist in thinking, that for the composition of Beppo, and subsequently of Don Juan, Byron was indebted to the reading of Buratti's poetry. Venice is a distinct world, of which the gloomy society of the rest of Eu- rope can form no conception ■ care is there a subject of mockery. The poetry of Buratti always excites a sensation of enthusiastic delight in the breasts of the Venetian populace. Never, in my presence, did black and white, as the Venetians themselves say, produce a similar effect. Here, however, I ceased to act the part of an eyewitness, and here, consequently, I close my narrative." APPENDIX. > 357 XXXII. Letter from Fletcher, Lord Byron s Valet, to Dr. Kennedy. i( Lazaretto, Zante, May 19, 1824. " Honoured Sir, " I am extremely sorry I have not had it in my power to answer the kind letter with which you have honoured me, before this ; being so very unwell, and so much hurt at the severe loss of my much-esteemed and ever- to-be-lamented lord and master. You wish me, Sir, to give you some information in respect to my Lord's manner and mode of life after his departure from Cephalonia, which, I am very happy to say, was that of a good Christian; and one who fears and serves God, in doing all the good that lay in his power, and avoiding all evil. And his charity was always without bounds; for his kind and generous heart could not see nor hear of misery, without a deep sigh, and striving in which way he could serve and soften misery, by his liberal hand, in the most effectual manner. Were I to mention one hundredth part of the most generous acts of charity, it would fill a volume. And, in regard to religion, I have every reason to think the world has been much to blame in judging too rashly on this most serious and important subject ; for, in the course of my long services, more than twenty years, I have always, on account of the situation which I have held, been near to his Lordship's person ; and, by these means, have it in my power to speak to facts which I have many times witnessed, and conversations which I have had on the subject of religion. My Lord has more than once asked me my opinion on his Lordship's life, whether I thought him as represented in some of the daily papers, as one devoid of religion, &c. &c. — - words too base to mention. My Lord, moreover, said, * Fletcher^ I know you are what, at least, they call a 358 APPENDIX. Christian ; do you think me exactly what they say of me?' I said, ' Idonot,forI had too just reasons to believe otherwise/ My Lord went on, on this subject, say- ing, ' I suppose, because I do not go to the church, I cannot any longer be a Christian ;' but (he said) more- over, a man must be a great beast who cannot be a good Christian without being always in the church. I flatter myself I am not inferior in regard to my duty to many of them, for if I can do no good, I do no harm, which I am sorry to say of all churchmen.' At another time, I remember it well, being a Friday, I at the moment not remembering it, said to my Lord, ' Will you have a fine plate of beccaficas V My Lord, half in anger, replied, i Is not this Friday? how could you be so extremely lost to your duty to make such a request to me !' At the same time saying, ' A man that can so much forget a duty as a Christian, who cannot, for one day in seven, forbid himself of these luxuries is no longer worthy to be called a Christian.' And I can truly say, for the last eight years and upwards, his Lordship always left that day apart for a day of abstinence ; and many more and more favourable proofs of a religious mind, than I have mentioned, which hereafter, if I find it requisite to the memory of my Lord, 1 shall undoubtedly explain to you. You, Sir, are aware, that my Lord was rather a man to be wondered at, in regard to some passages in the Holy Scriptures, which his Lordship did not only mention with confidence, but even told you in what chapter and what verse you would find such and such things, which I recollect filled you with wonder at the time and with satisfaction. " I remember, even so long back as when his Lordship was at Venice, several circumstances which must re- move every doubt, even at the moment when my Lord was more gay than at any time after. In the year 1817, I have seen my Lord repeatedly, on meeting or passing any religious ceremonies which the Roman Catholics APPENDIX. 359 have in their frequent processions, while at Nivia, near Venice, dismount his horse and fall on his knees, and remain in that posture till the procession had passed : and one of his Lordship's grooms, who was backward in following the example of his Lordship, my Lord gave a violent reproof to. The man, in his defence, said, ' I am no Catholic, and by this means thought I ought not to follow any of their ways.' My Lord answered very sharply upon the subject, saying, 'Nor am I a Catholic, but a Christian ; which I should not be, were I to make the same objections which you make ; for all religions are good, when properly at- tended to, without making it a mask to cover villany, which I am fully persuaded is too often the case/ With respect to my Lord's late publications which you mention, I am fully persuaded, when they come to be more fully examined, the passages which have been so much condemned, may prove something dark ; but I am fully persuaded you are aware how much the public mind has been deceived in the true state of my lamented master. A greater friend to Christianity could not exist, I am fully convinced; in his daily conduct, not only making the Bible his first companion in the morning, but, in regard to whatever religion a man might be of, whether Protestant, Catholic, Friar, or Monk, or any other religion, every priest, of whatever order, if in distress, was always most liberally reward- ed, and with larger sums than any one who was not a minister of the gospel, I think, would give. I think every thing combined together must prove, not only to you, Sir, but to the public at large, that my Lord was not only a Christian, but a good Christian. How many times has my Lord said to me, ' Never judge a man by his clothes, nor by his going to church, being a good Christian. I suppose you have heard that some people in England say that I am no Christian?' I said 'Yes, I have certainly heard such things by some public prints, but I am fully convinced of their falsehood.' My Lord 360 APPENDIX. said, ' I know I do not go to church, like many of my accusers ; but I have my hopes I am not less a Chris- tian than they, for God examines the inward part of the] man, not outward appearances.' Sir, in answer to your inquiries, I too well know your character as a true Christian and a gentleman, to refuse giving you any further information respecting what you asked of me. In the first place, I have seen my Lord frequently read your books ; and, moreover, I have more than once heard my Lord speak in the highest terms of, and receive you in the most friendly manner possible, whenever you could make it convenient to come to Metaxata ; and with regard to the Bible, I think I only may refer to you, Sir, how much his Lordship must have studied it, by being able to refer to almost any passage in Scripture, and with what accuracy to men- tion even the chapter and verse in any part of the Scripture. Now, had my Lord not been a Christian, this book would most naturally have been thrown aside, and of course he would have been ignorant of so many fine passages which I have heard him repeat at intervals, when in the midst of his last and fatal illness. I mean after he began to be delirious. My Lord repeated 'I am not afraid to die;' and in as composed a way as a child, without moving head or foot, or even a gasp, went as if he was going into the finest sleep, only opening his eyes and then shutting them again. I cried out ' I fear his Lordship is gone V when the doctors felt his pulse and said it was too true. I must say I am extremely miserable, to think my Lord might have been saved had the doctors done their duty, by letting blood in time, or by stating to me that my Lord would not allow it, and at the same time to tell me the truth of the real state of my Lord's illness *. but instead of that, they deceived me with the false idea that my Lord would be better in two or three days, and thereby prevented me from sending to Zante or Cephalonia, which I repeatedly wished to do r •APPENDIX. > 361 but was prevented by them, I mean the doctors, deceiving- me : but I dare say you have heard every particular about the whole ; if not, I have no objection to give every particular during his illness. " I hope, Sir, your kind intentions may be crowned with success, in regard to the publication which you mean to bring before the British public. I must beg your pardon, when I make one remark, and which I am sure your good sense will forgive me for, when I say you know too well the tongues of the wicked, and in particular of the great, and how glad some would be to bring into ridicule any one that is of your religious and good sentiments of a future state, which every good Christian ought to think his first and greatest duty. For myself, I should be only too happy to be converted to the truth of the Gospel. But at this time, I fear it would be doing my Lord more harm than good, in publishing to the world that my Lord was converted, which to that extent of religion my Lord never arrived ; but at the same time was a friend to both religion and religious people, of whatever religion they might be, and to none more, or more justly de- serving, than Dr. Kennedy. " I remain, honoured Sir, " With the greatest respect, " Your most obedient and very humble Servant, " (Signed) Wm. Fletcher. " Dr. Kennedy, &c. &c. Cephalonia." XXXIII. Letter from Lord Byron to Yusuff Pashaw. " Highness ! " A vessel, in which a friend and some domestics of mine were embarked, was detained a few days ago, and released by order of your Highness. I have now 362 APPENDIX, to thank you, not for liberating the vessel, which, as carrying a neutral flag, and being under British pro- tection, no one had a right to detain, but for having treated my friends with so much kindness while they were in your hands. " In the hope, therefore, that it may not be altogether displeasing to your Highness, I have requested the governor of this place to release four Turkish pri- soners, and he has humanely consented to do so. I lose no time, therefore, in sending them back, in order to make as early a return as I could for your cour- tesy on the late occasion. These prisoners are libe- rated without any conditions ; but should the circum- stance find a place in your recollection, I venture to beg that your Highness will treat such Greeks as may henceforth fall into your hands with humanity ; more especially since the horrors of war are sufficiently great in themselves, without being aggravated by wanton cruelties on either side. " (Signed) Noel Byron. " Missolonghi, 23d January, 1824." APPENDIX, 363 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. The figure which this ancient edifice cuts in the memoirs, as well as in the works of the poet, and having given a view of it in the vignette, make it almost essential that this work should contain some account of it. I am indebted to Lake's Life of Lord Byron for the following particulars : " This Abbey was founded in the year 1170, by Henry II., as a Priory of Black Canons, and dedicated to the Virgin Mary. It continued in the family of the Byrons until the time of our poet, who sold it first to Mr. Claughton, for the sum of 140,000/., and on that gentleman's not being able to fulfil the agreement, and paying 20,000Z. of a forfeit, it was afterwards sold to another person, and most of the money vested in trustees, for the jointure of Lady Byron. The greater part of the edifice still remains. The present possessor, Major V/ildman, is, with genuine taste, repairing this beautiful specimen of gothic architecture. The late Lord Byron repaired a consi- derable part of it, but forgetting the roof, he turned his attention to the inside, and the consequence was, that in a few years, the 'rain penetrating to, the apart- ments, soon destroyed all those elegant devices which his Lordship contrived. Lord Byron's own study was a neat little apartment, decorated with some good classic busts, a select collection of books, an antique cross, a sword in a gilt case, and at the end of the room two finely-polished skulls, on a pair of light fancy stands. In the garden likewise, there was a great number of these skulls, taken from the burial- ground of the Abbey, and piled up together, but they were afterwards recommitted to the earth. A writer, who visited it soon after Lord Byron had sold it, says, ' In one corner of the servants' hall lay a stone coffin, 364 APPENDIX. in which were fencing- gloves and foils, and on the walls of the ample, but cheerless kitchen, was painted, in large letters, ' waste not — want not.' During the minority of Lord Byron, the Abbey was in the posses- sion of Lord G — , his hounds, and divers colonies of jackdaws, swallows, and starlings. The internal traces of this Goth were swept away, but without, all ap- peared as rude and unreclaimed as he could have left it. With the exception of the dog's tomb, a con- spicuous and elegant object, I do not recollect the slightest trace of culture or improvement. The late lord, a stern and desperate character, who is never mentioned by the neighbouring peasants without a significant shake of the head, might have returned and recognised every thing about him, except perhaps an additional crop of weeds. There still slept that old pond, into which he is said to have hurled his lady in one of his fits of fury, whence she was rescued by the gardener, a courageous blade, who was his lord's master, and chastised him for his barbarity. There still, at the end of the garden, in a grove of oak, are two towering satyrs, he with his goat and club, and Mrs. Satyr with her chubby cloven-footed brat, placed on pedestals, at the intersections of the narrow and gloomy pathways, strike for a moment, with their grim visages and silent shaggy forms, the fear into your bosom which is felt by the neighbour- ing peasantry, at ■ th' oud laird's devils.' I have fre- quently asked the country people what sort of a man his Lordship (our Lord Byron) was. The impression of his eccentric but energetic character was evident in the reply. ' He's the devil of a fellow for comical fancies — he flag's th' oud laird to nothing, but he's a hearty good fellow for all that.' " Horace Walpole (Earl of Orford), who had visited Newstead, gives, in his usual bitter sarcastic manner, the following account of it : " As I returned, I saw Newstead and Althorp. I APPENDIX. 365 like both. The former is the very abbey. The great east window of the church remains, and connects with the house ; the hall entire ; the refectory entire ; the cloister untouched, with the ancient cistern of the convent, and their arms on it : it has a private chapel, quite perfect. The park, which is still charming, has not been so much unprofaned. The present Lord has lost large sums, and paid part in old oaks, five thou- sand pounds' worth of which have been cut near the house. En revenche, he has built two baby-forts to pay his country in castles, for damage done to the navy, and planted a handful of Scotch firs, that look like ploughboys dressed in old family liveries for a public day. In the hall is a very good collection of pic- tures, all animals. The refectory, now the great drawing-room, is full of Byrons : the vaulted roof remaining, but the windows have new dresses making for them by a Venetian tailor." The following detailed description of Byron's pa- ternal abode, is extracted from " A visit to Newstead Abbey in 1828," in The London Literary Gazette : i "It was on the noon of a cold bleak day in Febru- ary, that I set out to visit the memorable abbey of Newstead, once the property and abode of the im- mortal Byron. The gloomy state of the weather, and the dreary aspect of the surrounding country, pro- duced impressions more appropriate to the views of such a spot, than the cheerful season and scenery of summer. The estate lies on the left hand side of the high north road, eight miles beyond Nottingham ; but, as I approached the place, I looked in vain for some indication of the abbey. Nothing is seen but a thick plantation of young larch and firs, bordering the road, until you arrive at the hut, a small public-house by the wayside. Nearly opposite to this is a plain white gate, without lodges, opening into the park ; before stands a fine spreading oak, one of the few remaining trees of Sherwood forest, the famous haunt 366 APPENDIX, of Robin Hood and his associates, which once covered all this part of the country, and whose county was about the domain of Newstead. To this oak, the only one of any size on the estate, Byron was very partial. It is pretty well known that his great uncle (to whom he succeeded) cut down almost all the valuable timber; so that, when Byron came into possession of the estate, and, indeed, the whole time he had it, it presented a very bare and desolate appearance. The soil is very poor, and fit only for the growth of larch and firs ; and, of these, upwards of 700 acres have been planted. Byron could not afford the first outlay which was necessary, in order ultimately to increase its worth ; so that as long as he held it, the rental did not exceed 1300Z. a-year. From the gate to the abbey is a mile. The carriage road runs straight for about three hundred yards through the plantations, when it takes a sudden turn to the right; and, on returning to the left, a beautiful and extensive view over the valley and distant hills is opened with the turrets of the abbey, rising among the dark trees be- neath. To the right of the abbey is perceived a tower on a hill, in the midst of a grove of firs. From this part the road winds gently to the left till it reaches the abbey, which is approached on the north side. It lies in a valley very low ; sheltered to the north and west, by rising ground; and to the south, enjoying a fine prospect over an undulating vale. A more se- cluded spot could hardly have been chosen for the pious purposes to which it was devoted. To the north and east is a garden, walled in ; and to the west the upper lake. On the west side, the mansion is without any enclosure or garden-drive, and can therefore be approached by any person passing through the park. In this open space is the ancient cistern, or fountain, of the convent, covered with grotesque carvings, and having water still running into a basin. The old church- window, which, in an architectural APPENDIX. 367 point of view, is most deserving of observation, is nearly entire, and adjoins the north-west corner of the abbey. Through the iron gate which opens into the garden, under the arch, is seen the dog's tomb ; it is on the north side, upon a raised ground, and sur- rounded by steps. The verses inscribed on one side of the pedestal are well known, but the lines pre- ceding them are not so. They run thus : Near this spot Are deposited the remains of one Who possessed Beauty without vanity, Strength without insolence, Courage without ferocity, And all the virtues of Man without his vices. This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery If inscribed over human ashes, Is but a just tribute to the memory of Boatswain, a dog, Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, And died at Newstead, November 18th, 1808. The whole edifice is a quadrangle, enclosing a court, with a reservoir, and jet d'eau in the middle ; and the cloisters still entire, running round the four sides. The south, now the principal front, looks over a plea- sure-garden to a small lake, which has been opened from the upper one, since Byron's time. The entrance- door is on the west, irt a small vestibule, and has nothing remarkable in it. On entering, I came into a large stone hall, and turning to the left, went through it to a smaller one, beyond which is the staircase. The whole of this part has been almost entirely rebuilt by Colonel Wildman ; indeed, during Byron's occupation, the only habitable rooms were some small ones in the south-east angle. Over the cloister, on the four sides of the building, runs the gallery, from which doors open into various apartments, now fitted up with taste and elegance, for the accommodation of a family, but then empty, and fast going to decay. In one of the galleries hang two oil-paintings of dogs, as large as 368 APPENDIX. life; one, a red wolf-dog, and the other, a black New- foundland, with white legs, the celebrated Boatswain. They both died at Newstead. Of the latter, Byron felt the loss as of a dear friend. These are almost the only paintings of Byron's which remain at the abbey. From the gallery, I entered the refectory, now the grand drawing-room ; an apartment of great dimen- sions, facing south, with a fine vaulted roof, and polished oak floor, and splendidly furnished in the modern style. The walls are covered with full-length portraits of the old school. As this room has been made fit for use, entirely since the days of Byron, there are not those associations connected with it which are to be found in many of the others, though of infe- rior appearance. Two objects there are, however, which demand observation. The first that caught my attention was the portrait of Byron, by Phillips, over the fireplace, upon which I gazed with strong feelings ; it is certainly the handsomest and most pleasing like- ness of him I have seen. The other is a thing about which every body has heard, and of which few have any just idea. In a cabinet at the end of the room, carefully preserved, and concealed in a sliding case, is kept the celebrated skull cup, upon which are in- scribed those splendid verses : Start not, nor deem rny spirit fled, &c. People often suppose, from the name, that the cup retains all the terrific appearances of a death's head, and imagine that they could Behold through each lack-lustre eyeless hole The gay recess of wisdom and of wit. Not at all ; there is nothing whatever startling in it. It is well polished, its edge is bound by a broad rim of silver, and it is set in a neat stand of the same metal, which serves as a handle, and upon the four sides of which, and not upon the skull itself, the APPENDIX. 369 verses are engraved. It is, in short, in appearance, a very handsome utensil, and one from which the most fastidious person might (in my opinion) drink with- out scruple. It was always produced after dinner, when Byron had company at the Abbey, and a bottle of claret poured into it. An elegant round library- table is the only article of furniture in this room that belonged to Byron, and this he constantly used. Be- yond the refectory, on the same floor, is Byron's study, now used as a temporary dining-room, the entire furniture of which is the same that was used by him. It is all very plain, indeed ordinary. A good painting of a battle, over the sideboard, was also his. . This apartment, perhaps, beyond all others, deserves the attention of the pilgrim to Newstead, as more in- timately connected with the poetical existence of Byron. It was here that he prepared for the press those first effusions of his genius which were published at Newark, under the title of Hours of Idleness. It was here that he meditated, planned, and for the most part wrote, that splendid retort to the severe critiques they had called down, which stamped him as the keenest satirist of the day. And it "was here that his tender and beautiful verses to Mary, and many of those sweet pieces found among his miscella- neous poems, were composed. His bed-room is small, and still remains in the same state as when he occu- pied it ; it contains little worthy of notice, besides the bed, which is of common size, with gilt posts, sur- mounted by coronets. Over the fireplace is a picture of Murray, the old family servant who accompanied Byron to Gibraltar, when he first went abroad. A picture of Henry VIII., and another portrait in this room, complete the enumeration of all the furniture or paintings of Byron's remaining at the Abbey. In some of the rooms are very curiously-carved mantel- pieces, with grotesque figures, evidently of old date. In a corner of one of the galleries there still remained 2 b 370 APPEXDIX. the fencing foils, gloves, masks, and single-sticks he used in his youth, and in a corner of the cloister lies a stone coffin, taken from the burial ground of the abbey. The ground floor contains some spacious halls and divers apartments for domestic offices, and there is a neat little private chapel in the cloister, where service is performed on Sundays. Byron's sole recre- ation here was his boat and dogs, and boxing and fencing for exercise, and to prevent a tendency to obesity, which he dreaded. His constant employment was writing, for which he used to sit up as late as two or three o'clock in the morning. His life here was an entire seclusion, devoted to poetry. THE EXD. C. Whiting, lieaufort House, Strand, j;i